First day off work today...

So today is my first day off work. Went to the docs on Tuesday and she signed me off until Nov 5th (start of term 2 at school) but wants to see me in the half term holidays (I'm away in Croatia actually, so can't!) to renew my sick note until Christmas/January. 

Feels strange but I know it's the right thing.

I had Isla on 13.7.12, the last week of the summer term. Her funeral was on 30.7.12 and then we went to France for a week. When we got back, we only had 3 weeks until school started again but I'd already told them I'd be going back in to teach my new class. 

Well, I lasted 4 weeks! It was so hard to be there. My brain just doesn't function properly yet. I have no confidence in myself and have such an awful class I'm constantly shouting and repeating myself, which is incredibly draining. At home, we're trying to move house (sale been going through 6 months now so is very tiring too!), have the follow-up consultation and PM results on Monday and my due date is the 18th October. All these things, I just need to get through. And this Friday is when I was due to stop working anyway for maternity leave. 

Am seeing my counsellors tonight and also going to a Big Noise choir I joined, so should be an evening of mixed emotions. 

Oh, and I also picked up my brand spankers Fiat 500 this afternoon! Photos later!

Midnight ramblings...

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.