Chasing joy

Bad enough that I had my baby's life snatched from my grasp just hours before she was born, I feel like I have been robbed of so much else.

I want my joy, hope and excitement back.

I want my ability to enjoy pregnancies back. Because I want to enjoy this pregnancy, the same way I did Hope's. Somehow, I don't think that is going to be entirely possible.

While I am fully aware of needing to make the most of this time, in case it is all I get again, I know I wont enjoy it quite the same way.

I feel like I should be on a six-figure salary for the full-time job that is surviving this crazy roller coaster ride of grief and growing a new baby, but no one is paying me a cent. And I have to get through this alone. With help from loved ones yes, but ultimately it is just me and the baby, and I'm the only one who can get that little one here safely. Some days, the responsibility feels entirely too much for me.

This time last year, I was well and truly in to the pregnancy with Hope. Just months away from delivery, I was sporting a hefty bump and you could not wipe the smile off my face. I was young, fit and healthy and my baby was going to be born just fine. I mean of course Simon and I worried about the baby being born sick. I'm sure any expectant parent does. But we knew that the odds were very much in our favour, that our baby would be perfectly well. All the tests said so. There was not a single thing making me high risk. For anything. We were going to be just fine.

We shopped, we talked to strangers and shop keepers about our excitement and we waited patiently for her birthday to arrive.

Now I feel like a time bomb. I time bomb that people are hoping wont go off this time. People are hoping this baby is rescued, before it is all too late. Mostly, I think it is probably just me who is thinking like that.

I miss the fact that people can't talk to me the way they did last time. I miss the fact that my interactions with people about this pregnancy are not at all like they were in round one. People speak in softly softly hushed tones. People look very concerned. The hugs seem to come with more intent. They last longer. I mean this is all good. It shows people care and they do love me, but I just wish it could be like last time.

I hear people talk to other pregnant women the way they used to with me, but I don't get that now myself. People are still awkward around me. They still don't know what to say. And this new pregnancy has just added a whole new dimension to that.

Then of course there are the totally oblivious people, who think I am fixed because this baby is now coming. Our news, for the most part, is no longer a secret. After getting good and reassuring news at our scan on Friday, we told the last few people there were left to tell. News is now spreading fast, and my phone and inbox are being flooded with messages of congratulations, many from people who barely stopped by to offer condolences in the first place.

And some responses have just floored me. "Wow! Enjoy the next six months!" I wish it were that simple. I wish I could enjoy this time with this baby as much as I enjoyed my time carrying Hope. I wish I could plan and shop and think of the future. I wish I could take holidays, stroke my belly and relax in the knowledge that all will be well.

"We're sure everything will be fine this time." Really? I mean we hope things will be fine, too. And so far, so good. But it is not that simple. No one can be sure of anything, and empty platitudes like that just don't serve any purpose to me.

"I understand what you are going through." No. You don't. You have one child, and it was born just months ago with that one thing mine did not have - a heartbeat. How could you possibly know? This one has really bugged me as there are so few people who understand and its the ones who don't try and understand and don't try to make out they get it who have been best support. They have just let me be, and not questioned the way I have handled any of this.

It has been the people who have said things like "we can't imagine how hard this must be for you. You're doing a fantastic job so far, and we're here for you all the way". These people have thought about what to say. They have taken the time and energy to come up with something that wont grate or sting me. Why can't more people be like this?

For the most part, this has been incredibly hard. Harder than most people think. The hormones, the stress, the grief, the fatigue and the nausea makes it impossible to think straight most days. And people still wonder why I'm not back at work? I don't think there is an employer in the country who would have me right now anyway. I'm a mess.

I try to think positive. Just the other day, I purchased one blue and one pink newborn size onesies. I am adamant my baby will come home in one of those outfits. Then by the end of the day I'm in total break down mode again, wondering how on earth I am going to survive this. Wondering if my baby is going to survive this.

On Monday, at our most recent obstetrician appointment, she could not detect our baby's heartbeat with the Doppler. It was almost a case of here we go again. I looked across at Simon and he looked across at me and we waited patiently for our obstetrician to return with that damn ultrasound machine. She did, and the heartbeat was there, feverishly flickering away. Baby was just hiding. Playing tricks, I don't know. But I wonder how I am going to do this? I feel certain I am not strong enough to survive this again. The more time I have with this little one, the more I feel hopelessly attached. I am so deeply in love with that 7cm little baby. Every night before bed I will it to live. I will it to grow up big, strong and healthy. I will it to stay safe. I don't feel like my babies are safe inside me anymore. I really do feel like that time bomb.

I just get so mad. Those midwives who made those final decisions in those final days probably don't realise the enormity of what they have actually at least partially caused. It was not just the death of my child, it was everything else that came with it. The ripple effects.

The strained relationships with people, the overwhelming stress and worry and the inability to find joy in this the pregnancy of my second child. My second child.

I know these early months are hard. I remember from last time. You just look a bit fat. You can't feel the baby move yet. You are constantly sick and tired and you feel like you have so long to go. I think perhaps once this belly grows and once I can feel the movements of this little one, things might be better. Maybe. But I want that joy back. I want the opportunity to experience this baby's gestation the same way as I did for his/her older sister.

I am shopping again this time. Just yesterday, after much research and comparing products, we bought a Doppler. It should arrive in a few days time. That is probably one of the only things we will purchase this time around. It was expensive, but I can't put a price on my sanity right now. Sure my sanity was tested on Monday when this baby played a cheeky game of hide and seek, but the bigger and stronger he or she grows, the easier that beautiful heartbeat will be to find. And I'm going to need daily reassurance all is well in there. People would have laughed at me if I bought a Doppler last time. I mean who needs one of those? Why would you waste your money? But that's the new me. I'm not sure of pregnancy the way I once was. I now know nine months does not guarantee you happily ever after. Happy endings are not a given.

So maybe being able to listen to this baby's heartbeat more regularly than I did with Hope will give me small moment of joy. I want that joy back.

But more than anything, I want my baby back, but I know I can't have her. If I can't have her, then I want that damn, elusive, joy back. That's the least I deserve. Because yes, this is hard. Harder than most people will ever understand.