Goodbye Little One

This afternoon it was time.

I took the little blue box, from the Tiffany bracelet which my husband had bought me as a remembrance, and gently placed her tiny remains inside, along with the letter I had written, and tied the white ribbon back around the box.

With a heavy heart I put the box into the hole my husband had dug, and together we covered it over with dirt.  Several times I had to stop as I simply could see through my tears.
I planted the Olive tree then fell sobbing into his arms.

She is in her final resting place.

Less than a minute after we had finished, the rain started.  Not as heavy as the storms we had last Saturday - the evening we lost her - but they have been steady all evening.  It seems fitting.

I miss my baby so much, and I will never get to hold her in my arms.

Things I can't control

Today I am angry.

Yesterday marked one week since the loss of our baby.  I told my husband that morning that it was going to be a rough day for me.  I thought he would listen.  It's not easy to have discussions when you have a seven year old constantly listening in, so sometimes you really just need to read between the lines.

That morning I requested we go for a drive and find somewhere to buy a special plant, a tree to plant that afternoon.  I eventually found what I was looking for, a small olive tree seemed fitting.

Exhausted and emotional, when we returned home I lay on the couch, needing to be alone for a while to prepare myself for the afternoon.  Husband declared he was going to wash the cars and mow the lawns, which was fine, there would still be time.  Then, for some bizarre reason, a neighbour came over and suggested they replace some warped boards on our front landing.  WTF?  No, no, no - not convenient.  Tell him tomorrow, another day, any time but now!
I didn't go outside, I was too upset and didn't want to be the screaming banshee wife, so I lay inside and cried until my anger and frustration took over.

By the time he came back in, it was nearly dark and just too late for the plans I had.

I'm still upset and angry.  

From the beginning

It was a decision seven years in the making.  Discussed, well thought out, all consequences considered.  Not a decision made lightly or on a whim. To have another child.  At 40.

We have lived well these past seven years since the birth of our daughter. Travelled, explored, established a loving home, experienced many happy times together.  But when I reached my 40th birthday I knew the one thing missing was that much thought about addition to the family.

Deep in my heart I had always longed for a little October baby, a Libran girl like her Mama and Grandma.  So that is what I aimed for.  I looked at calendars, I charted, I peed on sticks.  I knew the perfect time to get this special wish.
A few days after ovulation, my coffee started tasting funny.  All I could taste was milk and I had to request a change – less milk, more coffee please.  Was this it?  Could I be pregnant?

On the day before Valentines, I peed on a different kind of stick and there it was.  The faint second pink line.  My heart nearly exploded with joy.  I waited until the next day to show my husband – happy valentines day sweetheart!  Although I wanted to shout the news from the rooftops, it seemed like a good idea to wait until 12 weeks.
Instead, I shared it with a handful of close friends online, girls I felt safe with, the girls who were excited to follow my journey.  We talked names and birthdates, they even helped me pick an obstetrician.  It was one of the happiest times of my life.

We were having a baby!

One month later I had my first obstetrician appointment.  My lovely doctor scanned my tiny bump and announced that I was 6weeks and 2days along, which didn’t really add up.  I knew my dates, I knew the very day of conception, I knew my body.  But everything else looked fine, there was a good strong heartbeat and we tentatively looked at a scheduled c-section for October 22nd.  My libran baby!
Two days after the scan, I noticed some brown spotting.  Just a tiny bit, but when you’re pregnant, everything is of concern.  Back to my obstetrician for a scan – everything was fine, and I’d even gained a day and the heartbeat was faster.  I started researching testing and screening options, certain that was going to be the next hurdle.  I found the best fetal medicine specialist and booked my NT scan with his clinic.  As my regular clothing was starting to get a little tight, maternity clothing was saved to my cart at Gap and Old Navy, and I started looking at prams.

The next week I felt a bit strange.  I can’t describe how, just that something didn’t feel quite right.  I decided to keep my daughter home from school on the Wednesday, I just needed some time with her.  We went to a local shopping centre, and I ordered a coffee.  As it wasn’t one of my regular stops it seemed too hard to ask for it to be made my special way, so I simply ordered a plain old skinny flat white.  Oddly, it tasted fine and for a second I wondered…then brushed it aside to enjoy the time with my girl.
I nearly told her that day, that Mummy was going to have that much longed for sibling, but something stopped me.

That night I stayed up late watching TV, and was surprised that I didn’t feel tired. Thursday evening, I wiped, and there was blood.  Red blood.  Not much, but it was there.  The scan last week had been fine, so I was only a little concerned.

The next morning there was more.

I called my obstetricians office and told the receptionist.  She told me to come in at 1:30 that afternoon.  I sent my husband a message and told him I was now worried, so he offered to meet me there.
Walking in, I joked that I was one of those annoying pregnant ladies who worried about everything, still sure at this point that the worst he would say was I would need a few days of bed rest.

“I can’t find a heartbeat”.

The most horrifying words a pregnant woman can possibly hear, followed by "sadly it looks like your baby has died". He told me the options.  I said I couldn’t even think about it right now, that I would call him after the weekend, after I’d had a few days to process the shock.

I didn’t need those few days.  24 hours later it was all over.

So now, here I am a week later, stuck in a fog of grief and I don’t how I will ever be happy again.