This isn’t the post I was going to write next. I was drafting a birthday piece for RD after we celebrated his fifth birthday, turning over words and thoughts. Thinking I knew when I’d find time to turn them into something. It wasn’t at 3.24am 4 days later.
My husband breathes rhythmically and softly next to me. I can hear gentle stirrings of my dormouse-like children in other bedrooms in the house. But I feel utterly alone, because you are gone.
At 3.24am I lie awake dreading a Birth Day.
I’ve looked in the mirror and checked. You don’t look like you’ve gone. You still round me nicely in the middle. I bear no physical marks of pain, and yet my body vibrates with heartache.
You left me some weeks ago without so much of a whisper, no goodbye note. But I’m not angry at you. I’d like to know who’s responsible for allocating Bad Stuff That Happens to People, and tell them that’s enough. I’ve had enough for now. And maybe punch them in the face. But not you. You I want to hold, grow and nurture you inside me for another 4 months, just as I dreamed.
I joked about how we’d cope with you in our lives. That we already had our hands full. Our cup runneth over. But it was jest, nerves, excitement. We would have always had the time and love for you.
I can’t lie, I’m not a supermum or a domestic goddess. But with every fibre of me I live to be a Mum. Not perfect, but winging it and just as with RD and DD, learning with you. But always loving you. Always.
I screamed yesterday. I made a bit of a show of myself in that scan room. I’ve searched and I’m searching for reasoning. I begged someone to tell me it wasn’t true. Check again. Please, check again. But you’d gone.
And so soon we will meet. I’m a little scared to meet you to be honest. It’s too soon and yet too late. We will be forever changed by you.
And now she’s in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand
Elton John, Tiny Dancer