The "C" word

I have been doing a bit more socialising of late. Getting out and about to a few more things, despite my now hefty-sized frame. Spring and the sun here tends to drag people outdoors and there has been more happening of late on the social calendar and there is more to come. More reasons to get off the couch and face the world when last spring, I existed in a world of tears and darkness.

I have seen quite a few people of late who I had either not seen since I was jolly and round with Hope, or since the chilly winter day when we buried her body in a small white box in the earth with wet eyes and heavy hearts.

So of course, the first thing many now say to me, after so many months of saying not much or nothing at all, is "congratulations".

On Saturday, a friend of Simon's said this to me and I almost sarcastically blurted back out to him, "what for?"

Oh, that's right. That. The bump. The new baby. The obvious joy in our life again. Oh yeah. That.

But really, I feel like - "what are you congratulating me for?"

That I got pregnant, easily, again? That I have carried to a third trimester, easily, again? Because at this point, as grand as those achievements are and I will never take them for granted, I don't feel like they are much to be congratulated for. I feel like the real congratulations should be saved for when a live child emerges from my body, whole and healthy. So until that point, the word congratulations doesn't really sit all that comfortably with me.

I think a lot of the time, it is because the standard and readily dished-out platitude comes from someone who really has no idea what to say. Someone who probably never said much, if anything, about Hope's death. Her death was icky, complicated and too hard for them. So we got shoved in the too hard basket. And then they gave us space. LOTS of space. I mean we asked for it at first, but now it has become all too convenient for people, especially those who still don't know what to say. So people push us aside. Yeah, if I reached out more, I might be surprised at just how many are still there, but I really don't have the energy for that, with a 29 week old little one, and grief over a daughter now almost 13 months gone sucking all the life and energy out of me.

But this. This new life obviously swelling out in front of me is easy for them. Obviously joyful. Obviously good news. The pregnancy has been smooth and I look pretty well to an outsider (sad eyes aside). So to someone on the fringes of our lives, things appear back on track with the Sally and Simon Show, so they want to pass on their congratulations. Hope's death to them being nothing more than a blip on our radar, even if it was a major one. But something that was overcome, with time, some grief counselling and a new baby growing inside. So congratulations is what they say.

And the other thing is, congratulations is generally what you say to any pregnant woman as there is an easy assumption to make that all will be well. Because, most of the time, it is. Especially once the woman has reached a point where the pregnancy is painfully obvious to all onlookers. So people do assume, even without a crystal ball. Because the alternative is really just too bleak. But if we learnt nothing from this ghastly experience, it is to assume nothing. So we don't. But we do have hope.

All of this is exhausting though, and makes me think - maybe I'm not always ready for the big, bad world again yet? Maybe more couch time is needed? But I know, I can't hide away for ever. I do need to try and reconnect with my old life again in some way, shape or form. And I like spring! I like getting out! It is just hard when something that previously came so easily to me and even excited me, I now dread and feel drained from.

As always though, I know people really do mean well. When they talk to me, I can see them desperately clutching, trying to find something, anything to say that will break the silence and stifle the uncomfortableness. And, on Saturday, when I did receive those warm wishes of congratulations, I simply smiled and thanked the guy - he meant no harm. But on the inside, I was dying. I just don't feel I deserve it. I feel I haven't done anything at this point to earn it. But you know what - I have. I had Hope. I became a Mum. And for that, I did not receive many wishes of congratulations.

Two to be exact. Two people congratulated us for her birth. For having a baby. For becoming parents. One was the midwife who first found Hope had no heartbeat. She came to visit us, the new family of three, on the ward the day after Hope's birth. The first thing she said to us was "congratulations" and all I could do at that point, when I thought my life was all but over, was feel proud, and smile. She even cooed over our baby. The other was a woman who lives a few doors up the road. She wrote congratulations in a card that showed up in our mail box a few weeks after her birth. I never even knew this woman's name until the card arrived, but I can't tell you how happy I was to receive it and to read that special word. The C word. She recognised our achievement, and congratulated us appropriately.

I will welcome all the congratulations I can get when our little Thumper is born, but at this point, I'd rather people held off. Instead they can tell me I look well, they're thinking of us, they're happy for us, that lo and behold, they're sorry for our loss but please, I wish they'd give up on the C word. Unless they want to congratulate me for the little girl who came before. The little girl who got away. Surely I still deserve to be congratulated for that?