As anyone who reads this blog knows, I write about the tough stuff as well as the lovely and amazing part of birth and babies. And I am very open about my own story – my births and my parenting highs and lows, my daughters and my experience of babyloss.
The week has arrived, the week that should be so happy, it should be a magical week of birthdays because my daughter, my son and my husband have birthdays within one week, this week. My daughter celebrated her 12th birthday on Saturday – it was a brilliant day and I hid my tears well, and I am about to wrap presents for my husband’s birthday in the middle of the week.
But my tears are falling today because I should be getting ready for my boy’s birthday tomorrow. There should be chaos and last minute wrapping and party organising to do but he never made it beyond his third day. This is my week to cry and to grieve and to allow my heart to break where I don’t keep busy, where I don’t have to be brave.
Every year is different and I can’t predict how I will be. This year I miss the child I don’t have, not the baby who died. This year I feel robbed of all the milestones and the cuddles and the kisses and the giggles and the chaos of having three children. For 51 weeks of the year I rationalise this loss, I distract myself, I focus on all the good stuff in my life but for a few days this week I will cry until my eyes sting and I will remember my boy – how he felt as I stroked and kissed his skin and his hair, I will remember his smell, his eyes and the smile he gave us as a goodbye before he died.
I wrote a blog when I was pregnant with Jamie and for two years after he died – it kept me pretty sane and I share it now in case it is of use to someone else who is grieving.
And I also wrote a guestpost about babyloss last week in honour of my boy.