Thursday, 25 April 2013


9 weeks ago my husband gave me the wonderful and unexpected news that we were moving to Canada.

8 weeks ago I gave my husband the wonderful and unexpected news that we were having baby number 3. 

We had settled on being happy with our two beautiful daughters. We had talked casually about having a third but felt that perhaps being so close to 40, we should quit while we were ahead. So it was a surprise yet a delight to discover that we had had an oops and another little one was on its way.

It meant a few changes to our move to Canada - now was the consideration of baby furniture and clothing. Hospitals, doctors. Getting clearance to fly at 7 months. Organising for my Mum to fly over in November. That The Eldest would stay the eldest, but The Youngest would become The One In The Middle. The delicious thought of holding another new baby in my arms. What perfect timing - I was going to be a stay at home Mum for two years anyway, so having another baby would fit in perfectly with our family situation.

I have been incredibly sick with this baby - more sick than my other two. Compounded by the stress of work, life has been an exhausting challenge for the past three months. But inside me I have been growing a new human being.  A new life. Another baby. Wonder, excitement, delight.

I didn't have any complications with my previous two pregnancies. So when I started bleeding last Thursday, I was filled with alarm. Hubby took me to hospital where an ultrasound showed little oops's heartbeat was strong and all appeared well. We returned home, rattled, but more convinced than ever of just how much we wanted this baby. I talked to bub, telling it to hold on. Mumma was getting better, resting more. I promised to look after myself better, so that I could look after it.

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. 

What words are there to describe grief. Loss. Ache of heart, tears and thoughts almost too much to bear. 
I was unprepared, caught off guard. All life drained from me. I don't recall leaving the room. Or driving home. There is a certain amount of numbness packaged in with grief.

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...

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