8 weeks ago I gave my husband the wonderful and unexpected news that we were having baby number 3.
We had a 12 week scan on Monday afternoon. Before the sonographer could say anything, I knew. I could see it, and my heart broke into a million pieces. There was no heartbeat.
My baby, my little 'oops', had died.
How does one go about saying goodbye when you haven't even had the chance to say hello?
We go through the physical motions, making arrangements, seeing doctors. Time in hospital. The numbness helps you cope, and you don't need to face the actual reality of what it all means. Physically, my body is recovering. Gone is the nausea, the cramping, the back ache. My appetite is returning, and I am hungry for the first time in weeks. The evidence of the trauma of the past few days is fading.
Emotionally though. Odd moments catch me unawares. Would I like another coffee hubby asks. Yes, I answer, because I can now. The block of brie in the fridge. A newborn baby sock randomly on the floor fallen off one of the girls dolls. Tears on my cheek, when I didn't realise I was crying.
I know how lucky I am, to have two beautiful daughters already. Luckier than many in similar situations. I don't have the questions of whether I will ever be able to have children.
But the hole in my heart feels cavernous and I ache for the promise that won't be realised.
Maybe we will try again. Maybe not. Whatever we decide to do, this little one will forever hold a place in my heart.
My little angel that was...