Things we shouldn't say

There are some things that should probably remain unsaid. They are hard to say, and most people in this place never say them. And I know by saying what I'm about to say, I'm going to alienate and piss some people off, but it is how I feel - and I can't change how I feel. I only know what I know. This is the experience I am living - I can't change it and I can't order another one. I don't know it any other way, but what I do know is, what I am living through, is tough.

Not for one second will I say that losing a firstborn baby is worse than losing a later child. But what I will say is, it does make it a very different experience. And difficult. The loss of my child, the loss of my parenthood and at times the complete loss of hope. But I know, they are all different, and they are all difficult experiences. I still find I have far more in common with people than I don't. These losses bring us all together in so many ways.

I have been reading for long enough to know gestation, age or birth order does not change the way we feel about our children. It does not mean we love them any more or less. It does not mean they leave behind a bigger or smaller hole in our hearts. All our babies leave their mark. Their deaths leave us totally and utterly devastated, wondering how on earth we will ever go on.

But for me, and I'm sure I speak for others, losing a firstborn has just changed me to my core. Fundamentally. It broke me in to millions of tiny little pieces, I don't even know where to start in terms of trying to rebuild my life and myself. It was hard to know how I would ever go on, without another child here who needed me. This is why for me, I had to be pregnant again as soon as humanly possible. Because I could not bear to face one extra day on this earth living with completely empty arms. I needed to find purpose in life, and I'm just so damn lucky that the Universe granted me that new pregnancy as quickly as it did, as it has renewed so much of my hope and will to live. That is all that keeps me going these days. The new life inside of me. Without this new baby, I don't like to think about where I'd be now, and I know there are many out there who are living that hellish existence. And for that I'm so sorry.

I am not exactly jealous of others who have older, surviving children. In fact in most cases, if not all, their very existence brings me much joy. And hope. I love reading about them, hearing about their antics and how they fit in to family life when one or more of their siblings is missing. I have always read blogs and stories that feature live children. I always kept reading about mamas who went on to get pregnant again before I did. As much as it was, and sometimes still is, very hard, it did bring me hope. It did give me a lot to chew on, knowing one day I'd probably end up in that same place - the parent of both a live and dead child. I feel I have so much to learn from babyloss mums with kids - both those who came before and after loss - as with any luck, that's where I'll find myself in about three months time. With one foot in both camps.

Obviously I don't know, but can only imagine, parenting after loss would be very, very hard. But this is the thing, when/if I do ever get to parent (a live child, that is) I will always have to parent after loss. I will never know what is like to parent without that dark cloud of loss hanging over my head. I will never get to parent without this heavy grief in my life. I will always wonder what sort of a mother I would have been. This all makes me so sad. I just feel like aside from the death of Hope, I got cheated of so much more. All of those special first experiences. I will hopefully get them again with this boy, but it will never be the same. Those are the experiences I should have had with Hope. I know we love our kids all the same and that love can keep expanding even if we keep on breeding, but there is something special about the first. There just is. Everything is just so lovely and new.

On the flip side I suppose, and I don't deny this for one second, perhaps having lost my firstborn, will make me a better mother. Neurotic and crazy yes, but more present, more grateful and more loving. But again, I don't really know. I'll still always wonder about that mother I was going to be when our Hope got away. The most comforting part for me is, whoever that mother was, is with Hope now. Hope took that Sally with her. When she died, such a large part of me died, too. I hope whatever was left behind is enough to cut it as a mother to a live child. Soon I will know.

A lot of this rant comes from the fact I am terrified I will never have a live child - even now, almost 24 weeks in to a new pregnancy. I am worried they will keep on dying, that I'll only ever bear dead children. I'm terrified I will never get that full, complete experience. The one that goes positive pregnancy test - nine months of bliss - birth - take baby home - live happily ever after. I know it sounds ridiculous, as I'm edging towards the end with this baby, and the odds are stacked heavily in my favour, but it is hard to see the light when death at the end of a pregnancy is all you know. I'm trying to cling on to that hope, that simmers away somewhere below the surface, but it is hard.

It makes me so sad that I don't have any positive experiences or happy endings to fall back on. I have never done this before. 100 per cent of my pregnancies so far (this one excluded) have gone to shit. I can't say to myself "well, despite what has happened, I have done this once/twice/three times before so I know I can do it again". I'm scared of this not working out, because it has never worked out for me before.

What I am grateful for though, and especially in this community, is that most people do make me feel like a mother, when on most days, I find myself questioning that very notion. Some do a very good job of this, and they know who they are and I'm so thankful for them. I still don't always know if I am a mother. I don't know how to mother a dead baby, even though this is exactly what I have been doing for almost 12 months now. I have no other mothering experiences to compare this to. I know people always tell me what I am doing by honouring Hope's life and memory is real mothering, but it doesn't always feel like it. There are no dirty nappies, no cries in the night (mine aside), no vegetables to mash, no toys littering the house. From the outside, there is nothing that resembles motherhood in my life whatsoever. Nothing. Just that empty nursery and a few tasteful photos displayed around the house of the life and child that never was.

I so wish I knew what it was like to give birth to a live child. To have them warm and placed on your chest at birth and to see them stare up at you for the first time. To hear those first cries. To have them want you and need you and love you - like no one else on earth ever could. To strap them in a car seat and bring them home from hospital. To get home, proudly carry them in to the house and show them around, introduce them to the dog. To have the gushing visitors and the "congratulations" cards arrive in the mail. To put them to bed. Watch them sleep. Push them in a pram. Show them off to family and friends. Take photos. Share those photos, without people being afraid of them. Hear them cry. Feed them. Nurture them. Love them. I want all of this so badly and it terrifies me that I could never get it - and I came so damn close with Hope. So devastatingly close. No matter how many children I go on to have, and I know this is true for us all, I will always wish I could have done those things with Hope. All of that, and so, so much more.

And as I mentioned a few days back, without another living child at home, it does make the days seem long, hard and pointless. I know it would still be hard with other children at home (hey, maybe even harder, who am I to say) but there would be more of a reason to go on, get up and face each day. I'm not jealous of others, I just wish I had this for me. And this is the thing, while I feel myself wishing for a different experience and wishing for live children at home, I don't think there would be many out there who would be wishing for this - the double whammy of babyloss and lost and shattered parenthood. It is just too cruel to imagine, yet it is the reality I live with every day. Every long, boring, quiet and empty day. And it is so sad knowing I am not alone. Even more sad knowing there are people out there with greater struggles than me. No living children, no parenthood and no new pregnancy. It is all so unfair and I wish I could change things.

I just wish there was someone out there who could tell me it was all going to be ok. That this baby was going to be born alive and well and come home with us. I wish someone could tell me that, and I wish I could believe them. I wish I could get some sort of iron clad guarantee on this pregnancy. I want to know I'm going to really get to do this motherhood thing. And not this type of motherhood, because as much as it gives me plenty of spare time and allows me to do what I want, when I want, it is simply exhausting.