Hello Aunt Flo

Well she finally knocked on my door today.

She's only light at the moment but I’ve got the tell tale cramps around the thighs and pelvis as pre Bobby so I know this is her and not the same mad cramping I had a couple of weeks back.

Funny enough, she has arrived four weeks to the day that I gave birth. Fate or a bad reminder; I’m not sure. Pre Bobby I was 28 days on the dot and I hope this will continue to be so.

This may sound strange but I’m going to do a pregnancy test when the AF finishes, just making sure I get a negative and we can then go from there. We are not going to try; as I’ve said previously, it will be a case of 'if it happens, it happens'. That way there will be no pressure and no expectations as there was the last time.

My Brother and I were in talks last night about doing a run to raise some money for SANDS. We haven’t confirmed any dates or where we will run yet but not only will it be a good goal to aim for, it will also, hopefully, get me back into shape.

I am doing a Car Boot in two weeks time with my Mum and my Aunt and I have decided to sell quite a few of the baby grows and the other items that I had for Bobby but that were not special. I’ve kept the special items of clothing which we brought him and which were brought by friends especially for him; they are in his memory box, but I have over 80 vests/sleep suites and they are doing nothing and will probably do nothing for quite a while.

Infact they are still hanging up in the wardrobe as I keep putting off taking them down but I think I am finally ready to do it. Thinking about doing it is bringing a tear to my eye, but they can’t be left hanging up forever as they are a reminder and they are in the wardrobe which my OH uses so it’s not fair on him to see them there every day either. I guess doing the car boot is an excuse because then I do have to do it.

And breathe. PMA. PMA.

Thoughts and Wants

Today our baby has been an Angel for a whole month.

Yesterday, I would have been 26 weeks pregnant; six and a half months gone.

Six and a half months seems such a long way to have come but it wasn't meant to be, we only made it to twenty two weeks. For whatever reason, five and a half months doesn't for some reason sound that impressive.

Tuesday is only two weeks ago that we buried him. It seems such a long time ago and yet at the same time it feels as though it never happened. Like the whole thing was a dream.

While lying in bed last night I had a random thought which turned into a fear. What if I get pregnant again and it turns out to be a boy? In all honesty I don't want another boy, it wouldn't feel right. It would feel like Bobby had been replaced with a baby which my body accepted and liked. It would make me feel even more guilty.

I can’t imagine never being pregnant again but I'm shit scared of falling pregnant again. Even though we are not trying to conceive we have had unprotected sex and although it’s only been two weeks since my post labour bleeding finished, I am yet to have my first visit from my AF.

I had twenty eight months of the 'am I, aren't I' question before falling with Bobby and to be back there again is horrible. It’s beyond horrible. It’s scary.

I really wish I had never fallen pregnant to start with and that we were still waiting to fall and when I do get pregnant, I wish that that baby was Bobby. I wish my body had waited to conceive him until it was ready to carry him to full term.

I loved being pregnant with him. He never gave me morning sickness. He kicked me every time I poked my belly to let me know he was there. He kicked every time the nurse checked his heartbeat at the hospital. We played our belly button game together.

Despite the early scares with the bleeding he hung on. Despite the stress I went through with losing my job he hung on. Despite my waters breaking and us being told he would die he hung on. He surprised the M/W and the Doctors when his heartbeat was heard after the cord prolapsed. He hung on all the way through until ultimately my body f*cked it all up and it suffocated him.

I want my Bobby back.

Something to Wake Up For

It’s been well over a week since my past post; the last post being Bobby’s funeral in fact.

I’ve been on here changing the layout around, wanting to type something but the words just haven’t flown.

Plus every time I have thought of something to type, the housework needs doing or the dinner needs cooking or my OH makes a comment about how much time I am spending on the computer of late so I turn it off with the hump.

I should be in bed right now as I start a new placement tomorrow via my agency which starts at 8am. It’s as an Admin Assistant at a local train company.

It may seem way too early to some but I am glad to be going to work. I’ve worked four days since falling pregnant with Bobby after the company I was with sacked me shortly after I told them I was pregnant in May.

It’s been killing me sitting around here all day. I didn’t mind so much while I was pregnant, as I was happy for the rest, plus I had came to accept that I wouldn’t be back in work until after Bobby was born. I just didn’t expect him to be born too early and for me to still be looking for work.

While pregnant I looked into training as a Teaching Assistant which is what I truly want to do but I was advised that I need to be in a school to start with and as the course was for a year, I wasn’t in the right place to be doing it. Since Bobby’s death I’ve been looking into it again but it’s now the school summer holidays which means they don’t re-open until September. The on-line courses I have been looking at all range from £300 - £500 each which I obviously can’t afford. I just don’t want to get stuck working back in an office environment clock watching, working only to pay my bills, sucking up to my boss just because yet again I’m late for work. I’m nearly thirty, I need be in a happy place within my life but nothing seems to be going to plan.

Another thing I have been looking into is seeing a Councillor. There is a lot of things going round in my head at present and I’m tired of crying myself to sleep each night or crying for a minute while I’m on my own and then stopping when my OH walks into the room. It’s just not healthy. There’s also the drink. I’ve managed to stay away from it apart from a bottle I was given for my birthday and my birthday weekend; last weekend where I drank for the whole day and could feel the old alcoholic feelings from three years ago creeping back through. I really do not want to go back to that dark place again. Ever.

Speaking of dark places I really need to get off to bed. It will probably take the usual hour to fall asleep but at least I will have something constructive to wake up for this time.

A Friday Blah Blah

Well I lasted a whole five days away from the www which has been ‘nice.

I’ve been painting our bedroom all day and annoyingly the bloody thing needs four coats on each wall!

I had a call today about another temporary job which starts on Monday. It’s the usual Admin role but this time it’s for a rail company. I’m looking forward to it as it will give me some purpose in life since the last temporary position ended. How sad does that sound? Very I know but it’s true.

The past three days I have been getting period like cramps which I’ve presumed would be the start of my first AF but nothing has yet appeared. The post labour bleeding has stopped but hey ho, we will just have to wait and see.

I am already prepared to be sad when it does arrive because it will be the final confirmation of the end of Bobby’s pregnancy; as strange as that sounds. Saying that however, my nails are already breaking, my tummy is now flat, I have spots coming through on my chin and I no longer get up at 5am for a wee anymore so I guess the confirmation that the pregnancy is over has been there all along.

As well as it being sad, I can also imagine it will also be a good thing to see it arrive because it will mean I can keep an eye on my cycle and therefore get some control back over my own body.

Well, that’s enough of my rambling; its time to get back to the painting.

Taking Some Time Out

I’ve decided to leave the www for a while. I’ve realized that at the moment it’s not healthy for me to be looking around sites which contain babies and pregnant bellies.

In a strange way, through no fault of anyone but my own, I feel like I’m having my nose rubbed in it that I’m no longer pregnant and that my baby is never coming back. I really don’t know where I belong anymore.

I need to get back into the real world instead of hiding away in the virtual one and I need to try to get over the fact that Bobby will never be coming back. I need to concentrate on getting a job and start speaking to my OH instead of speaking to people on the internet.

I’m sure I will come crawling back once things settle down in my head and in my life.

Bobby's Funeral

Tuesday 14th July 2009 at 9am; another date and time forever embedded into my memory.

When I was little I wanted just two things. Firstly for my crush of 5yrs David W to finally notice me and secondly to have twin babies which I would call Chelsea and Christian (this was the 90s)

I didn’t quite understand how babies worked but I knew that your belly grew bigger and out it popped. When I imagined what they would look like it never once crossed my mind that at the age of 28 I would not only find myself pregnant but that I would also be burying that child.

I started researching my Family Tree last year and I discovered that my Great Nan had given birth to a girl who was stillborn. Back then in the 30s a stillbirth was something to be ashamed off and it was never spoken about. Babies were buried outside the cemetery walls as they were not seemed fit to be received by ‘God’. Whilst researching I could only imagine what my Great Nan had gone through as she also went on to bury her other two daughters; one of them being my Nan, and yet here I am finding myself knowing exactly what she went through.

The day itself in retrospect was the second hardest day of my life and yet it wasn’t as bad as I had built it up to be.

The OH and I were met outside the chapel by Lee from the hospital morgue, the minister and a lady pallbearer. We were asked if we wanted to carry Bobby’s coffin into the chapel but we both declined. I had already held Bobby in my arms when I went to visit him and to hold him this time in his little wooden coffin just didn’t seem right.

The sight of the coffin made my OH cry and he continued to cry all throughout the ceremony and for most of the day. Not having seen Bobby before this day I guess it shocked him at how small his coffin was, along with every other new emotion the day brought with it.

We sat on the front row of the chapel and the minister started to speak. To be honest I cannot remember a word he said. For whatever reason I couldn’t cry but I do remember shaking all the way through the ceremony while looking at our baby’s coffin sitting on the pillar and wondering why, if there is such a thing as God, why did he let this happen. Why, if he knew how much we wanted Bobby, why did he take him away? People have said that it was because he was too good for this earth but then does that mean that our next child, should we make it to full term, not be as special because they are allowed to live? What makes one child more special then another?

The service lasted no longer then 10 minutes and with that we followed the car to the cemetery where he would be laid to rest. I will never forget the image of his tiny coffin being put into the pall bearer’s boot.

While Bobby was being placed into his grave a few more words were spoken, we threw some dirt onto his coffin and then it started to rain. It seems silly but this made me smile as I had hoped it would rain all morning. I was once told that if it rains during a funeral then it is a sign that that person is at peace; whether that is true or not, I don’t know, but I do hope so.

Now that Bobby has been laid to rest what now? This is one of many a question I have been asking myself since the day he died.
One thing I do know for sure is that Bobby will never be forgotten. I won’t allow him to be forgotten. His future brother or sister will know all about him and even when the time comes that I am able to go through a whole day without crying, he will always be in my heart. I used to be scared of death but now I know that when the time comes for his Daddy and me it won’t be so bad because we will finally get to be a proper family among the clouds.

Questions and Tears

I’m feeling quite low today. Maybe it’s because I haven’t cried for the past two days I don’t know. I’ve managed to hold it in and not cry myself to sleep for two whole days now. Instead it was my OH who cried himself to sleep last night whilst I stroked his hair. I’m glad he is finally starting to let it out.

The need to be pregnant again has been strong today. My OH wanted us to start trying again a couple of days after Bobby’s death, but I told him to forget it. At that time I couldn’t imagine even DTD, let alone getting pregnant and replacing Bobby. It was clear in my mind that we would start trying again towards the end of the year; once I was back to work and once my body and mind had had time to recover.

However today, having been on my community baby site for most of the day and seeing my old Birth Board’s growing bellies it has made me want to be pregnant again. Is that wrong?

I’m not sure if I am beginning to become jealous of them. Is it too soon. Will I feel guilty for ‘replacing’ my son. How do I know that it won’t take another two years before I fall pregnant again. What if it happens the first time and my body isn’t well enough and we have to go through this heartache for a second time. I don’t think I could carry on if that did happen.
It’s Bobby’s funeral in 34 hours and 15 minutes time and I am sh* tting myself!

We have decided to let the hospital bury Bobby which means he is to be buried in an adult size grave with fifteen other babies. Because he was only 22 weeks we didn’t even get to register his birth or death, it feels as though he is not classed as a ‘real’ person simply because he died two weeks short of what the Government class as ‘viable’. Only the scan photos, his two little photos, his prints and the pain in my heart are confirmation that he was ever here on this earth, not that he got to see any of it.

God I can feel the bad feelings rising up from the pit of my stomach again. I understand that with grief its ‘normal’ to feel angry but it doesn’t soften the blow when it does hit you. I’m jealous and slightly angry at some of the girls on my old Birth Board who are still pregnant, who are posting moaning about their swollen ankles and backache. I would kill to be where they are.

Why is it that women addicted to crack or women who didn’t even want to get pregnant go on to have a full term baby when it took us over two years to fall pregnant and all we got was 5 months of growing our boy; feeling his kicks, dreaming of his future only for it to be taken away because of some stupid f * cking water infection that could otherwise be sorted out with some cranberry juice.

I’m too tired to carry on typing, I can feel the tears rising up again and I need to get off of this laptop and get back to the real world. Not that the real world seems that real anymore.

A New Phase

The need to be pregnant again has been very very strong today.

I have told my OH that I don't want to start trying again until the end of the year but having a nose around my old birth board looking at all the growing belly's is making me want to be back there; to be back as a part of it all instead of the outsider that I now feel through no ones fault but my own.

I hate to admit it but I can feel a lot of jealousy starting to build up inside. I’ve been trying so hard not to feel jealous because I remember having them horrible feelings while TTC. I guess this is normal but it’s far from being nice.

My OH cried himself to sleep last night. This is the first time he has cried since Bobby's death and I am thankful that he is finally starting to let go. I’m thankful because I was starting to worry about him bottling it all up like he has a habit of doing over everything emotional.

Having just read back through this post, I think I’m going to give the baby site a miss for a few days; or at least until the horrible feelings have gone and the more positive ones have come back.

I think I'll quit while I’m ahead.

Weekend Ramblings

I’ve never written so many posts in all my life but they are helping a little.

I wasn’t going to do one today but I’m feeling a little fed up with everything.

We are skint; so skint that we have £10 to last until ... god knows.

I started a new job - temping - on Friday after getting a random call out of the blue Thursday evening. It’s for a call center and it’s far from what I want to do for the rest of my life but we really need the money. It’s good that I’m working for a short while but I’m back to being in a crap job just to pay the bills.

Another thing that’s making me fed up is that it’s Bobby’s funeral on Tuesday. I thought I was ok with it but now that it is getting close it’s starting to scare the shit out of me.

One positive thing to write is that I managed to fall asleep last night without crying but that hasn’t stopped the tears today. I’ve finally started on his memorial box and I have gathered up his special purchases and gifts as well as the pictures of my belly and his scans and the hospital records. His clothes are still hanging up in the wardrobe because I still can’t bear to take them down even though it hurts to see them there.

I contacted a solicitor yesterday about a possible claim towards my Doctor for not checking me when I went in to say I thought my waters had broken and towards the hospital for the way they left Bobby to die after it was confirmed he had a heartbeat. They say they will let me know on Monday if I have a case or not. We can only wait and see.

Meeting Bobby

Tuesday 7th July. The day I finally got to hold my Son.

He was wrapped up in a blue blanket, dressed in a funny white outfit, lying in a white mosses basket with a blue teddy keeping him company.

The room he was in was dimly lit because the curtains were drawn and it was made out to look like a nursery, with teddies of all sizes propped up in one corner of the room.

I was worried about seeing him at first because I wasn’t sure what to expect but it was surprisingly ‘easy’. I will never forget the image of him in his basket when the door was first opened or the way I took in a little gasp, it never occurred to me that he would appear red but once I had him in my arms it didn’t matter. I held him for forty five minutes. We spent that time together just the two of us. I tried to speak to him but I could only manage whispering and because the room was so peaceful it didn’t seem out of place. I told him quite a few times that I was sorry and that I loved him and I made sure that each tear fell away from him because I didn’t want to get him wet. It all felt strangely natural.

The one thing I will never get over is how much he looks like my OH. I have always wondered which part of us our babies would take on and there is no doubt that Bobby is his Son. He has his Daddy’s nose and his big lips, his long legs and he randomly has quite big feet even though both his Daddy and I have small feet. The only glimpse of me I could see was his chin and his tiny sausage fingers.

I was told at his birth that he would be the size of my hand but he was a proper little baby. His head alone was the size of my fist. I think he would have been quite long at full term because wrapped in his blanket from head to toe he was the length of my inside elbow to my fingers. I still can not get over his perfectly formed finger nails and his little black eyebrows. I just wish I could have seen what colour his eyes were.

I had brought a hat, mittens and socks with me to put on him but he was far too small for them so I gave them to the lady to put into his coffin. I also gave him the dummy and the letter from us and our photo.

Before I had gone in, I sat down outside the room by the lady who explained what I would find and advised that babies up to a certain gestation do not go stiff in death. She had asked me if I wanted to see his photos first before I went in but I declined because sometimes photos do not portray the real soul of someone.

After my visit his photos and his prints were given to me and I made my way out into town to meet up with a good friend of whom we had met via my old Birth Board. She infact the first ‘real’ person I had met up with since his death.

His funeral has been booked for next Tuesday at 9am. In a strange way I’m looking forward to it because then we can finally lay him to rest and we can then go and visit him whenever we want. Plus he will be with the other baby’s who will unfortunately be there with him.

In a strange way, seeing Bobby has given me a little bit of peace. I still cry every day but since seeing him, something feels slightly different inside. I now know what people mean when they say that the love you feel for your baby is a different love to that of your family or partner.
I may have only got to spend forty five minutes being a ‘proper’ Mummy to my Son but I will love him the same way any other Mummy loves their child for the rest of eternity and nothing and no one can ever take that love away from us.

Our Last Post

 

Dear Bobby,

I think this will be the last post written directly to you as this time last week I was in the process of giving birth to you. Not that you need to be told, as you were there.

I have already written you a heartfelt letter which has been placed in your coffin so there is nothing more I can add to this post right now; except for me to reiterate how much I miss you. There hasn't been a day since you fell asleep that I haven't cried. I hate what my body did to you.

You were perfect and had it not been for my body you would be kicking me in the stomach right now.

The 10 days we spent together at the hospital, I felt so close to you. I talked daily to you, you kicked every time you were prodded by the nurses and we would play a game where Id poke my belly button and you would push it back. Why did you have to leave?

Visiting you at the morgue on Tuesday is the hardest thing that I have ever had to do. I was so scared at what you might look like but you were/are perfect.

You have my chin and your Daddy's nose and lips. You even have his long legs, fingers and toes. Everything right down to your mini black eyebrows are perfect. I wish we had got to see what you would have looked like at full term; to know what colour your eyes would have been.

Holding you for those 45 minutes, talking to you, saying goodbye has helped a little but the hurt will never go away. I hope you didn't mind too much your Daddy not coming to see you. He deals with things differently from me and he has taken you leaving us in a bad way.

Naming you Bobby was so easy. All the way through I knew you were a Boy and everyone knew you via your nickname of Bob so Bobby seemed so fitting. I hope you like it.

Yesterday was my birthday and I felt so so down; it wasn’t supposed to have been like that this year. Surprisingly out of the blue late in the afternoon I had a call regarding a job with a tomorrow/today start! I really really hope you had something to do with it. I promise I will make this job work and that we will get our life back on track.

I hope you like your memorial tattoo I had done of your initial on my wrist today. It hurt like hell but it was worth the pain because now every time I look down, I see nothing but your little face.

I love you Bobby. I love you so much.

Love Mummy xox

Happy Birthday to Me

It’s my birthday today.

I’m going to try not to turn this into a moping post but its hard not to.

I’m 28, I have no job and this time last week I was waiting to give birth to my dead Son.

Since Bobby's death I have been thinking a lot about my life and wondering where to go from here.

Despite not having a baby to look after I randomly feel old and wise. Ok wise isn’t such a great word but maybe worldly is more of an appropriate way to describe it.

Since moving to London 10 years ago I have lived like a sheep. I’ve always gone from job to job following the money, working in shitting offices, being treated like a bimbo, always knowing there was something else out there but never knowing where to find it or how to find it.

When I got made redundant in April, being pregnant I was upset but not overly upset because I knew I couldn’t get a permanent job so I looked for temporary work but even that never turned up so, I resigned myself to the fact that I would be on benefits until the baby was born. I was happy to take a break from it all and concentrate on being a Mummy.

Now I hate being on benefits and suddenly living like a sheep seems appealing. I have no reason to be out of work anymore and being stuck in this house with its reminders is driving me potty. I need to get back out there again and get back to ‘normal’ as quickly as possible; if that is at all possible.

Ok enough with the moping around, I’m going to pop next door and treat myself to a birthday doughnut.

A Bad Day

This morning I felt so positive. I had plans to do some housework, to go out of the house for the first time since Friday and to clear Bobby's bits from the bedroom. Instead however I have sat here all day in the same spot. I haven’t washed and nor have I dressed and I have only eaten a bowl of cornflakes. I don’t feel hungry even though my belly hurts with hunger.

I’ve spent the past hour crying. It hurts so much. I can not explain the pain I’m feeling but I just feel so empty and as though there is something missing that I’m never going to get back. I’ve been looking at old photos before I got pregnant and I don’t recognize the person looking back and I honestly don’t think I will ever get to meet her again.

People keep telling me that I’m brave but it’s all a front.

I can’t cry in front of people; it’s my way of coping so therefore I seem ok but I’m far from it. The need to be pregnant again has been overwhelming today. My brain still doesn’t register that despite my still swollen tummy, there is no baby inside, and it is now just fat that I really need to get rid of because it’s yet another thing to remind me of what I’ve lost.

I’m going to visit Bobby tomorrow at 12pm.

It will be the first time I will have met him so I’m nervous but at the same time I can’t wait to finally see him and touch him. I’m hoping it will somehow ease the pain. I’ve written him a letter to go into his coffin, saying sorry more then anything else and I’ve printed off a picture of the OH and I so that he doesn’t forget us and so we are always near.

I’ve also sorted some things out to put into his coffin to go along with the letter and the photo. He's too small to wear any of his clothes so I’m taking a blue hat, some mittens and a pair of socks; just so he won’t get cold. I’ve also got his dummy and I will buy him a small teddy tomorrow on my way there.

I don’t know what to do with the rest of his stuff yet. There is just so much of it and its starting to bother me being in the bedroom. I think I’m going to buy a big container and put it all in and maybe one day we can use it for real.

Tomorrow I will also be talking to the woman about his funeral. The lady at the morgue told me that they had already taken a photo of him as well as his hand and footprints, so I shall be coming home with them and they will go into his keepsake box that I’m in the process of putting together.

I just want this pain to go away.

The Day We Lost Our Son

2nd July 2009 will forever haunt my memory.

I woke at 6:30am to use the toilet. I had what felt like a clot which didn't want to come out so I pulled on it. Realising that it wasn't a clot I looked down to see it was in fact grey.

Panicking that it was the baby I called my OH to wake him and asked him to call an ambulance. He was a little panicky himself when he realised that I was serious but he repeated what to do from the person via the phone.

This seems so odd to type now but at the time it made perfect sense; after the phone call was made and we waited for the ambulance to arrive, I brushed my teeth and washed what I could. I wanted to go to the hospital ‘respectfully’.

A paramedic car arrived first on the scene and it turned out to be an ex work colleague, who had trained to become a paramedic while working together. We had a little joke until the ambulance arrived and in all honesty it was nice to see a familiar face.

Two lady paramedics arrived next in the ambulance and had a look down below and explained that it was the baby's umbilical cord which had ruptured through my cervix. They asked my OH to get a soaked through sanitary towel which they placed in my knickers and told me to hold onto in order to keep the cord wet and warm.

I was taken to the hospital via the ambulance, while my OH stayed at home to pack a bag and follow on afterwards. Once there, I was taken to and examined in the Triage Room. I was told to prepare for the baby to have already died because she could not feel a pulse from the cord.

A male Doctor came in at this point; the three of us listened to the monitor and after a few moments his heartbeat was heard, beating away loudly just like nothing was wrong. Our baby was still hanging on and sitting on my right hand side. It was at that point that I said ‘thank you’ in my head for still being alive and a well done for being so strong and proving the Doctors wrong.

I was then taken to a private delivery room and told that the Doctors where at that time in an emergency operation but they would come round to see me as soon as possible. By now it was now 7:30am.

8:45am I had still not been seen, and I can not explain it properly as it was a feeling rather then an emotion but I suddenly became panicky, sweaty and I seriously thought I was going to have a heart attack. Something had changed inside of me from that moment. I felt ‘different’. I pressed the button for a midwife and she told me I was probably just panicking and told me to take my medication for the infection.

At 10:20am I was finally seen by a Doctor.

All this time I had been holding onto the sanitary towel in the hope that I could keep it warm enough to keep baby alive. The doctor did an ultrasound which showed inevitably that the baby had no heartbeat. Our baby had died.

Looking back now, I truly believe my baby had died around the time I had the panic attack. In a strange way I feel privileged to have felt that moment pass but knowing I felt a strong sense of panic; I wonder if that is what he had felt at that time too. It is something I will never know.

As my OH hadn’t yet arrived at the hospital - I found out later that day it was due to our car not starting of all the days to do so - I sent him a text explaining that I was sorry but our baby had died. Again in hindsight it was a cowardly way to tell him and I should have waited until he arrived but at that time I could not speak through the tears and I did not want to hear his reaction.

I was at that point left in a midwife’s care who before leaving the room, explained that they were waiting for medication to arrive from the pharmacy of which they would use to induce labour.

Up until that point it had not occurred to me that I would have to give birth to our baby.

During the 10 days we had spent at the hospital, I had asked a Doctor if anything were to happen, would I be allowed a c-section but was told ‘its best not to think about that now’. Well I now had no choice but to but had it explained that a c-section would not be allowed as it could lead to complications in later pregnancies.

My thoughts then turned to my parents and my MIL.

I know that my OH would have automatically made his way to his Mum’s which in a way was a comforting thought. Knowing that my parents were at work and not wanting to tell them over the phone, I text my Aunt; explaining the situation and when she called me back, I asked her to tell my Mum in person. She agreed and it is something I will always be thankful for.

My OH arrived just before the first tablet was placed inside of me just after 2pm. We cuddled and I went into autopilot, explaining what was going to happen next and we discussed if we wanted to see our baby at birth. We both agreed we didn’t. As shocking as that may sound; it was purely down to not knowing what to expect. I was scared of what our baby might look like.

My parents arrived just after 3pm and they and my OH stayed with me until the very end.

By this time I had managed to go through the labour by just breathing but the contractions were getting too strong to withstand so I asked for something to ease the physical pain.

By this time the darkness of the night was turning into the light of the morning and the birds were beginning to tweet. Both my OH and my Dad had been in and out of consciousness all through the night while Mum had sat next to me in a chair every single second.

At 4am I was finally given a pethidine injection which made the last stage easier to withstand.

After the injection it is a blur. A little like when you are so drunk that you can not see straight nor hear clearly and yet you know you have to try to sober yourself up otherwise you will be in trouble the next day; but nothing you do makes a difference, everything stays a blur.

I do remember feeling our baby being born, I do remember seeing my Dad walk out of the room as a flood of midwives run in and I do remember my OH’s head buried deep into my right shoulder, crying hysterically into it.

I remember my Mum to my now left and the midwife Sarah at the bottom of the bed talking to me and yet I can not remember a word she said.

I remember the strange mix of hysterical crying and yet the eerie silence of the room; the birds now tweeting in full glory accompanied by the sound of traffic outside.

Most of all I remember Sarah asking if we would like to know the sex of our baby.

Our Son Bobby was finally delivered breech at 5:48am Friday morning at 22 weeks and 2 days weighing a tiny 460g (1.01oz).

Because he was breech, his head got stuck during his birth. It took a further 30 minutes to deliver the placenta.

The next 6 hours went by so fast. The pethidine made me sick immediately after Bobby was removed from the room – maybe shock had something to do with that too.

My parents went out for some fresh air and to make a few phone calls while my OH packed my unused bag and prepared to leave to make another trip to his Mum’s and then on to home.

I had my bloods taken to be tested. I was told that I would get over this and that we would go on to have another baby by a (male) Doctor funny enough.
I declined a post mortem and had to make the decision there and then as to having a cremation or a burial; as though I was simply being asked to decide on which wallpaper I preferred; the white or the black.

The most important question asked was what our Son’s name was. I had tried to discuss names with my OH but he was adamant that we wouldn’t have that conversation until we found out the sex at the 20 week scan. As it turned out, due to what happened at the 20 week scan; names were never mentioned, not once.

Because Bobby was known as Bob all throughout the pregnancy it seemed natural to call him Bobby. It was never a name I had thought of; in fact I had wanted Nate but Bobby suited him like a glove and I can now not imagine him to be called anything else.

We were finally discharged at 12pm that afternoon.

From 1pm until 7am this morning, the OH and I have slept.

I have hardly eaten all day. I have spent most of it crying. I have read through the leaflets given by the hospital on ‘miscarriages’ and I have started to email funeral directors about funeral arrangements; even though I have no clue as to what I am doing or what it entails.

It seems so unreal at the moment until I look down at my deflated belly and then it truly hits me that there is no longer a baby in there and I will never again feel his kicks.

After not wanting to see him at the birth, I have decided to visit him at the mortuary some time next week. The need to meet him is so so strong. I know that if I don’t then I will regret it forever. My OH has made it clear that he does not want to see him; it’s his way of coping and I respect that.

We have been told that the mortuary will take a photo and prints of his hand and feet for us to keep. The hospital has already given us an envelope with his wrist band and his cot tag in. It bothers me a little that he is down as ‘Baby Boy (my surname) but I guess that is something little on the grand scheme of things

His clothes are currently hanging up, washed and smelling new in the wardrobe and his nappies are packed away in a box; I do not at this moment in time know what to do with them. Do I keep them for the next baby or do I sell them.

I'm not even sure if there will be another baby yet but what I do know is that Bobby will never ever be forgotten and he will always be our first born, much wanted, forever loved little man.