Swirling thoughts

Like others this past week I have felt the need to pull back from this community. Turn the computer off, step away and turn the focus back inwards. Of course for the past six and a half months the number one priority in my life has been this new little boy, and that has taken on a whole new significance in recent days. I have to focus on him and I and making it to the finish line in one piece. With peace. And slowly but surely, we are making our way there.

Despite all the heartache and sad stories out there, I have to continue to believe this pregnancy will get the fairytale ending Simon and I have been dreaming of. I have to remind myself, often with the help of others, that I am on my own path, that the fate of others has no impact on my fate. I have to keep trudging forwards. I have to keep having hope.

So I haven't been reading or participating as much in these last few days. And it has felt................ good. I have given so much of my life over to this community in the last 12 months, and for the most part, that has certainly done me a lot more good than harm. But there is only so much one can give, even though I'm learning a mother's heart can always keep expanding. And needed a break. I don't think I need to make any apologies for that.

But it was all inevitable anyway I think, because lately things have just been busy.

Visits, visitors, hospital appointments, check ups and ultrasounds (all good, all normal) and Father's Day thrown in to boot.

Father's Day here was otherwise known as Simon's Choice Day and all in all, the day went pretty well. Still stupidly wrong. Still sad. But not as bad as last year, not by a long shot. We were so raw and broken on Father's Day last year. We visited her grave for the first time and the earth was still fresh from her burial just days earlier. It was a particularly cruel time and it makes me physically ill to think about exactly how traumatic those first weeks were. But our son brought a new energy to the day this year and gave us that new focus we yearned for in those early days after Hope's death. But of course, we still miss her. It still hurts like hell. Father's Day for Simon wont ever be as it should. No day for the rest of our lives will ever be as it should. We will always be bereaved parents. Nothing will ever change that.

Something else I have been thinking about a lot lately is the fact I am now very much a mother of two. And that seems like such an abstract concept when I don't have either of my children here with me in my arms. One makes his presence very well known inside the confines of my belly and seems to be growing at an alarming rate in these his final weeks inside. Damn, I'm huge. The other will now forever be a memory. A little girl who gently tiptoed in to our lives, but left us even more silently than she arrived. But she was here. She was real. And she mattered. And I still spend so much of my time wondering to myself how on earth I will ever go on without her.

I say it out loud to myself:

I have two children.

I am the mother of his children.

My two kids.

I have carried two big and strong babies.

I am about to give birth for the second time.

I have two children.

It just seems so amazing to me. I can barely remember a time in my life without them, yet I really know nothing about either of them, apart from those beautiful, physical features of Hope's delicate body and precious little face. I'm also a mother, who knows almost nothing about mothering. I mean, what is this actually going to be like? Me, holding an infant, who gazes up to me, who needs me - for everything. I can't quite wrap my head around it, although you'd think after spending 69 weeks of my life pregnant, I'd be starting to get used to it. I've had a long time to prepare for this great change in my life. Part of me thinks at this point, I will never be ready.

While the memory of Hope will obviously never die, my thoughts around my pregnancy with her are starting to get fuzzy. I remember the joy, the anticipation, the excitement and the love but the specifics are starting to fade from view. Yes she was an active little girl in there, but I never paid as much attention to her like I do this boy. Truth be known, I didn't think I had to. I didn't think she'd leave me. I didn't think her movements could stop. And I certainly didn't think that when they did, it meant she was really, really gone.

But this boy, I am so tuned in to every move he makes, paying close attention to the exact rhythm of his days. Every roll, kick, hiccup and squirm. Every thump, twist, nudge and gentle flutter. I am always waiting for the next sign he's alive and well and hoping it wont be the last. I prod, and just wish on the stars he prods back. So far, for the most part, he's managed to keep my fears at bay. Yet I know how quickly things can change. I have lived this horror once before and I can almost taste the foulness of that excruciating memory where it all came to a crashing halt with the child who came before him.

When I think about who I am closest to in this world, Simon and my family aside, I know that it is my two babies who know me best. To think they have so intimately shared the same space inside me, just a handful of months apart blows me away. They have both lived inside me and called my body home for about 16 months now. They have moved with me, grown with me. They have shared every moment of every day with me that I have carried them safely within. Where ever I go, they go. What ever I eat, they eat. Who ever I talk to, they are listening. And even though one is no longer here, I'm always still carrying her around. Every stranger I meet in a shop, every friend I have a conversation with, she's always right there. They might not know or be asking about her, but she's just there. Right there. I don't see how that will ever change.

Yet to think these two babies will never know each other, never meet, never get to share toys and food and do all those other mundane things regular siblings get to do just breaks my heart.

I think about the relationships I have with my own siblings and I can't imagine either not being in my life. I can't imagine having to grow up knowing there was someone who came before me who I shared the same space with so intimately, yet never got to know. It is so horribly unfair. It is not fair for us, but it is even more unfair for Thumper and Hope.

I don't really know where I am going with this. Each time I sit down to write I like to think of a beginning, a middle and an end to my posts, but this is all a bit jumbled. However I felt I had to get some words to the screen as it has been a while since I have put my fingers to the keys. People were starting to worry about me, but really, everyone can rest assured: I am absolutely fine - well, as fine as can be expected. Of all the people we should be worrying about right now, I am certainly not one of them.

So today on my first quiet day in a few weeks, with the house empty and the cool wind blowing outside, I'm going to sit here and think about my two children. One almost here, one who never will be. I'm so proud of the two babies Simon and I have made and I love them both more than I could ever possibly imagined. Yes, a mother's heart does know no boundaries. And while I am enjoying this very strange version of motherhood, I can't wait to see how much better it might actually get.