Things people say

People say lots of things to you when you have a new baby.

One thing, I have heard over and over from others who already have children of varying age is "you forget how small they are".

I don't think I'll ever be able to forget how small my babies were. Ever. Because one of my babies, will always be a baby. A tiny newborn. I will always remember how her perfect yet fragile eight pound body fit perfectly in to the crook of my arm. I will always remember the healthy yet slight weight of her when the first handed her to me after I birthed her. I will always remember those adorable, tiny feet. Those hands. The long, delicate fingers. Cute button nose. I will always remember as she is frozen like that for me, as a tiny newborn baby. Hanging on my wall. Dangling around my neck. Plastered across my laptop and mobile phone screens. Stuck on the fridge. In my wallet. That's all she ever was and all she'll ever be for me. No matter how many more children I have, I will always be a parent to a tiny newborn girl, it is just that she's dead.

The other is that "every baby is different". Because I hear this so often, it makes me realise the cliche that often gets thrown about in this community that when you have a baby after loss, especially if you lost your first, you all of a sudden get a better appreciation of what you lost and missed out on. To me, I think I now realise I have absolutely no idea what I lost. Because I lost Hope, not Angus. He is his own little person, developing his very own traits, likes, dislikes and personality. Hope obviously would have been very different, so with her I have no idea what I missed and am missing and what I will miss out on every day for the rest of my days. And it makes the grief raw and new and fresh all over again. In ways I could not have imagined. That's the thing with grief, it really is the gift that keeps on giving. And this makes it frustrating, as I have reached a point where people in my life assume a level of healing has been attained. That I am somewhat better than I was before. That there is less need to talk about the one who is not here because there is now one who is. It is frustrating and tiring and I can only imagine that it is not about to get any better. The more time that passes, the less she will be remembered and talked about by others.

Many have also said to us "it gets easier" in terms of parenting a fussy, tiny baby. And this does seem to be somewhat true, with feeds getting a little easier and quicker, sleeps getting a little more frequent and longer and fussy periods abating. But this was also something many said to me about grief in the first days and weeks after she died, in that it gets easier. I really don't know if that is true. There is nothing easier about living without Hope, even with Angus here. There is nothing easier about my soul-crushing grief, just because the months are passing us by. There is nothing easier about living with the memories of the silence of the Doppler, the stillness of the ultrasound, the tragedy of her stillbirth. There is nothing easier about living with the gaping hole in my heart that will never be filled. The grief doesn't really get easier, it just goes on. It grows with me as Angus does.

There are thankfully things to soften the edges now though. And that's true baby smiles, from your brand new baby. My little Angus.

I will never forget these first smiles.

I will always appreciate his uniqueness. That he is his own special person.

I will always be glad about how much he has helped me heal. About how much easier he has made my days.

So this provides another gratuitous excuse to plaster my boy around in all his cuteness. Please enjoy.