This isn't me.
Our story was one of infertility and acceptance and great holidays together.
Not a stolen miracle.
That's what it feels like.
An out of body experience.
I can't believe it was me who saw a positive pregnancy test or a baby wriggling on screen.
Can't believe I felt her move or heard her heartbeat.
And can barely fathom it was actually me that laboured and gave birth to a baby girl who had died.
Its like I'm watching this stuff happen to someone else not me.
In my real life, I'm supposed to be ok. Happy even.
But that prospect seems impossible now. Happiness.
If this is my story, then happiness is what happens to other people.
I'm watching this from afar. It's not really me.
I don't impulsively buy a stupidly small car even if I've always wanted it. I don't book holidays without planning the ins and outs of all the practicalities. I don't get tattoos up my ribs because really I'm chicken and think it'll look weird when I'm old.
So this isn't me.
And yet.
It is.
It really is me going through all this shit and pain and misery. I'm now the woman who had 4 years of trying only to have a stillbirth.
Our miracle snatched away from us.
I can never go back to acceptance but I pray with all my might that I can go back to feeling happy again.
But if it's a happiness without my own baby then I don't want it.
Our story was one of infertility and acceptance and great holidays together.
Not a stolen miracle.
That's what it feels like.
An out of body experience.
I can't believe it was me who saw a positive pregnancy test or a baby wriggling on screen.
Can't believe I felt her move or heard her heartbeat.
And can barely fathom it was actually me that laboured and gave birth to a baby girl who had died.
Its like I'm watching this stuff happen to someone else not me.
In my real life, I'm supposed to be ok. Happy even.
But that prospect seems impossible now. Happiness.
If this is my story, then happiness is what happens to other people.
I'm watching this from afar. It's not really me.
I don't impulsively buy a stupidly small car even if I've always wanted it. I don't book holidays without planning the ins and outs of all the practicalities. I don't get tattoos up my ribs because really I'm chicken and think it'll look weird when I'm old.
So this isn't me.
And yet.
It is.
It really is me going through all this shit and pain and misery. I'm now the woman who had 4 years of trying only to have a stillbirth.
Our miracle snatched away from us.
I can never go back to acceptance but I pray with all my might that I can go back to feeling happy again.
But if it's a happiness without my own baby then I don't want it.
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