How many children do you have? Is this your first baby?

Such ordinary questions. But after baby loss, such a heart breaking questions as well.

Now that we have our precious rainbow baby, whenever I'm out with my daughter and we meet someone new, or even someone in our day to day interactions at the store or at any old mundane place, I can almost predict the way the conversation will go...

At first they coo over our new baby. Almost everyone in this country loves babies, so I have almost  always come to expect that most people I interact with will engage in conversation about our baby. Babies seem to be the perfect excuse to start a conversation with me - a foreigner in this land and most people want to have a peek inside the stroller, almost like it's a compulsion to some people to know what this foreign baby looks like. 

The first thing people say when they lay eyes on our baby is "Big eyes!". Then if my husband is with me, they often remark on whether baby looks like myself or my husband. A few moments of silence follow while they are smile and making googly eyes at my baby and then they ask, "Is this your first child?"

I am somewhat less uncomfortable with the question now than the first time I was asked it. I was just starting to show in my pregnancy and someone posed the question, "Is this your first baby? How many children do you have?" 

Most people would consider this a fairly harmless question. But for someone who has experienced baby loss, it is a fully loaded question. Every single time I'm asked this question, I consider the answer I will give very carefully. It is very important to me to acknowledge all my children. 

But at the same time, if it's someone I will never meet again, such as a store assistant, I don't really want to explain my whole life story to them either. If that is the case, especially sometimes with the language difference, I just say "She's our first born child". By which I mean that she is our first baby to have completed a pregnancy (and then some being slightly overdue).

It also makes me think that the next time I'm pregnant...despite having had a rough pregnancy, I must be crazy to consider going through it again, but there it is...the screen will say G3P1. In every pregnancy ultrasound picture, you will notice that there is a "GxPx" statement somewhere at the top, near the patient's name and the hospital's name. 

G stands for Gravidity, which originates from the latin word Gravida, meaning pregnancy. In this case G stands for the number of known pregnancies a woman has had. While P stands for Para or Parity, which in a nutshell means the number of times a woman has given birth to a baby aged 24 weeks and over, regardless of if her baby was born alive or not. 

In my second pregnancy with my daughter, it was amazing how many of the scanning doctors were not paying attention because they would say, "This is your second child?" And I would say, "If all goes well, she will be our first born". Then it would sink in and they would say, "I'm sorry I can't see that you had a miscarriage", but just by looking at the G and P numbers, they should have known.  

G3P1. Just four characters, but what a story those four characters tell.

Coming back to the question of how many children we have, it made me feel so much less alone to know that my husband struggled with this question too. We were out having lunch while my mother spent some time with her grandchild and I mentioned how difficult this question was for me. He surprised me by saying that he struggles with it when someone asks him that question too. I love this man for so many reasons, but most of all I am so grateful that our Pip, wherever she is, knows that she is included in our family. She matters to us and she counts. 

So now when someone asks me how many children I have, I usually say, "Two. I have one in heaven and one on earth". 

Sometimes my response takes a while to click. Often people will ask for clarification, but mostly people will say, "Oh I'm sorry" and move on. I don't mean to make anyone uncomfortable. After all, this is my loss, this is my grief and these are my children. 

For the person I'm in conversation with, they will probably forget me the moment I am out of sight and I have stepped out of their store or restaurant. But for me, every time I count Pip as my child, even to a stranger, I honour her. I honour her life, however brief it was. I honour her spirit, which I hope is free and in a happy place. Last but not least, I want my daughter who is here on earth to know that each and every member of our family is precious and loved.

How many children do you have? 

An eventful pregnancy

Disclaimer: This post contains a couple of photos of a medical nature, stuff that happened at the hospital and throughout the duration of my pregnancy. Please exercise due care when reading and viewing the contents of this page. 

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After we lost Pip, it took us some time to build the courage back up to start trying for another baby. Since it took us a while to fall pregnant with Pip, I was bracing myself for what could possibly be a long and eventful TTC (trying to conceive) journey. So many changes took place in our lives and then suddenly, the cycle after Pip's EDD (estimated due date), I started to feel very queasy and generally felt "off". 

I told myself I was imagining it and since we were travelling at the time, I didn't want to rush off to the pharmacy to buy a test and to build my expectations up only for everything to come crashing down again. Ah the joys of the emotional roller coaster that is TTC! When I struggled through a 3 hour plane journey, I knew that wasn't normal. But still, I didn't allow myself to believe until a week later. When I couldn't stand it any longer, I took the test. 

Lo and behold, two little lines appeared. 

I can't tell you how long I sat there staring at those lines. There was a quiet sense of joy, an instant surge of love and an all encompassing feeling of fear and anxiety. I told my husband and we both celebrated quietly. There was happiness, but behind our joy lurked the fear and dread that history would repeat itself. We didn't get as excited as we did when we fell pregnant with Pip - self protection to help protect us from the pain of loss we only knew too well. 

When we found out we were expecting Pip, we rang our immediate family straight away and everyone was so happy for us. This time around, we took our time telling everyone. Our news was received with joy, but we also felt the echo of our loss. People didn't get as excited as they did before. There was a quiet acceptance of our little one immediately into the family. But grief and loss has a way of breaking you and then putting you back together again in a way that is quite difficult to explain in words. So while we were happy and excited in our own way, it was different to our first pregnancy with Pip because we were not the same people we were back then. 

I think it really hit me that I was pregnant when I started to feel quite ill. I have certainly felt more unwell in my life. But I have also gotten better pretty soon afterwards each time. I think the thing that made the pregnancy sickness I felt so awful was how it went on and on and on and on and on and on with no end in sight. 

Sometimes certain things helped for a day or two (like ginger, dry toast etc.), then on the third day, I was back at square one. It really didn't help when I was told things like "you'll only feel sick when you wake up in the mornings, so just eat a dry cracker and you'll be fine!" or "yeah by 12 weeks you'll be fine!" or "oh I know exactly how you feel, I threw up three of four times when I was pregnant too". I realise that people try to be supportive by sharing their experiences, but I only truly found understanding in my friends who had also experienced Hyperemesis Gravidarum (HG) during their pregnancies. 

At around the same time that we lost Pip, I was hospitalised with HG after I could not keep anything in. I worried day and night that I was starving my baby. That she couldn't possibly be getting enough in the way of nutrients to grow. I could not even tolerate pregnancy multivitamins. My doctor said that this was quite common in her patients who experienced HG and she had me taking folic acid only for the longest time. I was terrified that due to a lack of vitamins my little one was not receiving all a baby needs to develop healthily. That it would only be a matter of time before we lost this one too. Each day was terrifying. 

I was very lucky to only be in hospital for three days and two nights. Some women I know experienced countless hospital visits for the entire duration of their pregnancies and in some extreme cases, were hospitalised for months. Some of my friends told me that they only felt better after they had given birth. I felt terrible for 16 weeks and I was only able to stop all HG medication and began to feel reasonably human again by around 20 weeks. I was thankful then and I am thankful now that I only had HG for around half my pregnancy and not the whole run. 

Back at the hospital, I was so exhausted from feeling so sick that the first night was a blur. After my IV was inserted, my doctor told me that I was out like a light. Hospitals are also one of the worst places to get any rest because every few hours someone is there checking on something, taking your temperature, strapping the blood pressure machine to your arm, changing IVs, pressing buttons, moving things around, asking questions when I was half asleep and so on. 

I felt a little better once I was starting to get re-hydrated  but I still couldn't keep anything down. My doctor recommended Gatorade to try to keep my fluids and electrolytes up. I tried to drink it, but it would not stay down. I tried to eat. I really did. I even forced myself to eat. But the result was always the same. Fifteen minutes to half an hour later, up it would come. It's so much fun running to the bathroom when you've got a needle in your hand and the IV trolley to roll around behind you! I became an expert at reading the "about to throw up" cues.  

The hospital tried to accommodate me and sent up their interpretation of Western meals. I really appreciated it, but unfortunately it didn't really help. I probably would have felt the same eating almost anything. By this point in my pregnancy I could not even look at meat. Which by the way, was a huge deal for me because I used to really enjoy meat as part of my meals. 

In the picture above, the hospital had prepared a cream sauce pasta with carrots and cauliflower after I asked if it would be possible for them to eliminate meat from the meals they sent up. Out of the four items on the tray - the vege pasta, toast, soup and some fruit - you guessed it. None stayed down. 

When I wasn't passed out with exhaustion I talked to my baby and told her how much we're hoping she's okay and we're looking forward to meeting her soon. A bit of deja-vu as I did this with Pip also in that week following the scan of doom. It was hard not to go back to that dark place, especially during my scans. But thankfully through this whole ordeal our baby was okay. We heard her heartbeat for the first time then and it made my HG experience bearable. I started to consider that perhaps feeling sick was an indicator of my HCG levels remaining strong, so every time I threw up during the day I'd tell myself that it was a sign my baby was getting stronger. I had started to feel sick during my pregnancy with Pip also, but no where near what I felt with this pregnancy.

I convinced my doctor to send me home after my second night in hospital. If I was to continue throwing up, at least I'd be somewhat more comfortable in a familiar environment. She kept me for observation a little while longer, then we went home with a bag of anti emetic medication. By the time we were about to go home, my hand was so swollen from the IV that I couldn't even see my knuckles any more. The saline and other medication administered through the drip was cold so my hand was constantly freezing, but having a warm compress over the needle in my hand helped it to feel a little better. My hand was really hurting after the second day. By the morning of the third day, my hand has blown up like a balloon. Fun times. 

Back at home, the challenge to find something - anything - I could eat that was nutrious continued. I managed to find some instant Pho noodles in the grocery store and for a few weeks lived on that because I couldn't stomach anything heavier. The worst part was I'd start to eat the noodles, have to get up mid way through a meal to throw up, then come back and force myself to eat the rest of it so that baby was getting something other than just water. Now I can't walk past a store that sells Pho noodles without feeling the same nausea in the pit of my belly. 

I drank clear chicken broth for a few days and that helped some. But eventually even that was no longer tolerable. The smell of anything meaty would set me off. Especially the smell of raw meat or the smell of meat cooking. I was in the 3rd floor of a friend's house and the moment I opened the door, the smell of meat cooking in their kitchen on the ground floor would make me leg it to the bathroom. It seems that I had developed a super sensitive sense of smell as well during pregnancy, which didn't help.

I am so thankful that my doctor was so compassionate and understanding. It would have been awful to have been under the care of a doctor who thought I was making this up. In fact the day that my husband took me to the hospital after I could not even keep water down, my doctor was not there so I was sent to see another doctor. She was one of the rudest and most uncaring people I've ever met. She pinched the skin on my arm and stated "You're not dehydrated. Go home". When I told her of my history of miscarriage and my concerns that I would loose this baby too if I kept vomiting, she dismissed me and proceeded to list her duties as a lecturer of medicine in a nearby university which I can only assume was to make the impression that she knew what she was talking about. I suppose that after practising medicine for many years, some medical professionals become desensitised to suffering and only severe medical cases make any impression on them. Luckily my doctor returned my call just as she was about to send us out of her office to go home. After my doctor had a brief chat with Dr Unhelpful and checked in with me, she told me to go to the maternity ward for observation and later admitted me.

Nothing can beat being under the care of an experienced and compassionate doctor. When certain things caused a reaction, she would suggest other things that had helped her other patients. And so when I reached the point where I could no longer eat real food, my doctor said "just eat ice cream". So I did. I normally love ice cream, but even this was a struggle for me. My husband was wonderful and purchased a variety of flavours for me to try. In the end I would just settle down for dinner with a spoon and the ice cream container. 

Until I felt my baby move, every day brought it's own emotional challenges. I was so lucky to feel our baby move for the first time at 16 weeks. I was sitting in bed with my laptop and I very clearly felt a sharp poke from the inside of my belly button. From that point onwards the movements became clearer and I really loved feeling my baby move and it gave me the reassurance that she was alive. Towards the end when bub ran out of room, I could see little lumps and bumps on my belly where an elbow or a knee would be sticking out. My husband also loved feeling our baby move and so it was awful when one day she suddenly stopped moving. 

Back to the hospital we went and strangely enough, I ended up in the same bed which was in the maternity ward where I first got hooked up the IV and was under observation. This time I got hooked up to a fetal heartbeat monitor instead. I can't tell you the relief we both felt when we heard our baby's faint heartbeat. I had to press a button every time I felt our baby move as well. We did this for several hours and lost baby's heartbeat a few times as bub moved around, but thankfully all was well and we went home later that night. 

There was a bit of drama in the rest of the pregnancy when we were exposed to Tuberculosis and my husband and I had to go through several checks, an xray for my husband and blood tests for the both of us for this. Not only was this incredibly stressful, but dealing with the possibility that our child could be born with TB and all that implies as well as dealing with HG   was just not fun. 

Along the way of course there were a million other blood tests as well. Most were uneventful but one in particular left a huge bruise on my arm. The nurses were always telling me that I had tiny veins, but this has got to be the worst blood test ever. This photo below was taken a few days after the bruise had started to heal so this was after most of the damage had subsided. 

I was devastated when the routine gestational diabetes test came back positive. So I went back for a more thorough one. I have a history of diabetes on both sides of my family, but I had been so strict at not eating any junk or sweet things during my pregnancy that I felt like all my efforts had been for nothing. I also didn't have a sweet tooth so it was a bit of a shock on that front as well. My initial test reading was great, but the readings after that were terrible. It was interesting that on the day when I went back to the hospital for the second gestational diabetes test, I saw a Pip number plate and just felt her presence with me. I certainly needed a bit more support that day, so I did appreciate the little signs of her that I received. 

I was upset at yet another hurdle along this journey, but I was determined to avoid insulin if I could help it. So I isolated the foods that gave me high readings (toast at breakfast, even the whole grain, sugar free variety made for diabetics!) and avoided those. The only thing I could have for breakfast for the longest time was oats, but in the final weeks even oats gave me very high spikes. I have always disliked oats but now I had to force myself to eat it. It would literally take me 45 minutes to swallow 3 spoonfuls. 

My testing kit came with me everywhere. The biggest changes I made to what I was already doing was to eat a small snack in between meals, whereas before I had only been trying to eat 3 meals a day. By this point in my pregnancy I had lost any enjoyment I previously obtained from food. I ate so that my baby could live and that was really it. This also was a radical change to who I was pre-pregnancy as I really enjoyed good food. 

Thankfully just as I started to feel better, it was time for our family to relocate internationally so I was grateful that I could do a lot of the packing and sorting that was required. During this time I started experiencing Braxton-Hicks contractions at least twice a day. My doctor told me to rest as much as I could, which was difficult while we were relocating and trying to get a large amount of work done in a short period of time. I was given medication with to stop labour if it started, just in case. Thankfully with the help of family, our move went smoothly and then we waited for our container to arrive so that we could get settled into our new home. 

Since I was experiencing regular Braxton-Hicks, my doctor sent me for non-stress tests every two weeks once I reached the late 20 weeks mark of my pregnancy. I was so glad that my mother had joined us as it made a big difference to lifting my spirits. She was relentless in trying different foods until she found dishes I could tolerate when it was clear that my childhood favourites were no longer doing the trick. I only wanted bland food all the time because spicy food or anything with a strong flavour made me feel ill. 

I became very familiar with the non-stress test room and the ultrasound rooms. I knew that the spikes in the bottom chart indicated contractions, but to be honest I didn't even feel them. Towards the very end of my pregnancy the doctors who did my scan knew me by name and would exclaim "Your baby is still not here yet!" as I went in for yet another non-stress or ultrasound.

I stopped attending pre-natal yoga by 38 weeks because I could barely walk any longer without assistance from my husband or without holding on to rails. From the 30 week mark of my pregnancy I had developed hip pain which meant that my pregnancy waddle was quite distinct. 

We were getting excited as the days grew closer to 40 weeks. I was feeling worse and worse about my diet as towards the end my gestational diabetes restricted the variety of foods I could consume without causing spikes in my readings. At 40 weeks and 6 days, my doctor strongly recommended an induction. Having gestational diabetes severely increased the risk of stillbirth the longer we waited, so we went ahead with this. After the whole day in labour with no signs of progress, our baby was born via a c-section that evening. 

There was a sheet from my chest upwards, which prevented me from seeing what was going on as the surgery got under way. My husband held my hand and we talked excitedly about meeting our baby in only a few short minutes. Then my husband said "She's here!" but I couldn't hear anything. My husband left my side to cut the umbilical cord and I could not see or hear anything. I waited in agony to hear my baby cry but there was only silence. 

I remember that the first thing I said to my husband was "Is she alive?" and my husband replied, "She's beautiful". Then I heard that first cry and before I realised it, tears were running down my face. The nurse mopped up a few tears because my hands were strapped up and she said "You're crying so much!" and I assured her they were happy tears. There was a blur of activity as our baby was weighed and then finally after what seemed like forever, they freed my hands and placed her on the pillow next to me. 

I can't tell you what I felt in that moment but it ranged from overwhelming joy, relief that our little one had survived pregnancy and birth, LOVE! My heart was just bursting at the seams with love and happiness. It felt like I had waited a lifetime for that moment when I finally got to meet her. Too soon after that, they took my daughter away to put her under the heat lamps as she was getting cold and I remained in the operating theatre while they finished up. 

I was so delirious with joy that I remember talking to the nurses non-stop. After a while they gave each other a look over the top of the sheet and I said "Am I talking too much!? I'm just so happy!". That adrenaline rush lasted 3 nights. I could barely sleep and I was smiling from ear to ear. I recovered well and was able to walk with help two days after my surgery. On the third day we came home and life was never the same again. Because of the HG, I lost a total of 9kgs from my first doctors visit to when our daughter was born. Our baby weighed just over 3kgs when she was born. The road to recovery was pretty good actually after the c-section, but my hip pain lingers on still. 

Now that I have experienced labour pain, I can say for sure that the pain I experienced when miscarrying Pip was indeed labour pain. The birth of our baby has helped us heal so much, but yet the void that Pip left behind remains. I don't think that anything will fill that void and certainly nothing and no one will ever replace her. Once upon a time I did not think that it would be possible to love another baby as much as we loved Pip, but now I know that my heart has just expanded to include both my children. 

I carried you all the days of your life

Hello my beloved princess,
Today was your estimated due date. I can't begin to describe the sense of loss I am feeling today. It is as deep as a canyon and as empty as nothingness. 

I knew that today would be hard. So very hard. So I made plans to keep myself busy. Not because I didn't want to think about you - is that even possible? I think about you all the time. I made plans because I didn't want today to be just another day.

So I've got candles lit for you and your other angel baby friends and the dinning table is covered in scrap booking paper and other bits and pieces as I work on decorating these journals in your memory. I'll write about the journals in another post, but in this letter to you I want to tell you that every journal was made with love. Each journal was also dedicated in your memory to help other families. 

Your life wasn't meaningless. Even though I still don't know why you couldn't stay with us and I ask often, there is no clear answer. Through our journey of loss with you, I have gained so many amazing new friends that I wouldn't have otherwise. I found a way to be creative and to help other families today in your memory. This whole journey has taught me how to relate to other mums and dads who are facing this situation also. Those things bring me some comfort that there were some positives to arise from this awful experience, but nothing will ever be the same as if you were here healthy, happy and well. 

Everyday daddy and I miss you. I found this saying a while ago, "I carried you all the days of your life". I loved it instantly because it is so true for me. I carried you with love, pride and joy every single day you were with me. If I was given the choice of never having been pregnant with you and not having any of this pain to deal with versus having you again, even if it was with the same outcome, I would choose the latter in a heartbeat. 

To have had you with us for however long you were able to stay was a blessing beyond measure, only I would wish that I could have had longer with you. Never ever have I regretted having you despite the agony and the grief that followed. I only grieve for how brief a moment in time I was given with you for it was far too short a time. 

I wish that you were here on earth not up there in heaven. I wish so much that I was at the hospital falling in love with you all over again. I wish that I was soaking in your newborn smell, your beautiful face and feeling your little body snuggled close. Those are the things I will never have with you, but the one thing I will always have for you is this heart full of overwhelming love.

Mummy's friend Nat, sent me this beautiful card and it says everything in my heart today. I wish today was so different than what it is. I wish that you were here. 

Fran's beautiful card range is available from Red Bubble

I've asked the angels to give you a special cuddle for me and daddy today. To tell you that you are loved and missed so very, very much. Rest in peace my precious little butterfly. You are in our hearts now and always.


Our love for you is eternal,
Mummy and Daddy xxx 

A blessed pair

One of the things I really struggled with in the lead up to Christmas last year was how I'd remember and include our angel baby in Christmas from here on out. I shopped for ornaments in the stores around me but couldn't find anything that really fit Pip. All the Christmas angel ornaments I found were beautiful, but they were all adult angels as opposed to baby angels. When I did find ornaments for babies, they were all "Baby's first Christmas" baubles in one form or another. 

Since we married, we've had a tradition of adding an ornament or three to our Christmas tree each year. Often it's something that represents the country or place we're living in. But this year I knew it had to be a special one for our special baby. And so once the search in the world around me proved fruitless, I turned to the internet. 

How do I love thee Etsy, let me count the ways! The little angel ornament on the right caught my eye from the moment I saw it on my search listings. I'm not sure what I loved exactly, perhaps it's the fact that the angel is clearly not an adult, or perhaps it was the way she was holding her teddy bear that seemed so innocent and childlike. But I felt a connection to her and the rest was history. 

The lovely artist who made it also gave me the option of customizing her hair and skin colour (a very significant detail which helps this ornament mean so much more to me personally). So our little angel ornament ended up with curly dark hair (curly like mummy's and dark for both mum and dad). I also loved being able to customize it with Pip's name. I would have loved to have given Pip her own special teddy bear and so who knows? Maybe this is my way of indirectly filling that void too. I prefer not to over analyse.

In the end, I was also blessed with the angel figurine on the left as a gift from the artist! Thank you so much! How lucky am I? I love her, she's so beautiful and I absolutely love how she doesn't have a face, because she could be anyone at all that way. 

I haven't decided if the bigger angel is Pip's guardian angel or mine? Either way, I know that this pair will be a very special part of our future Christmases, but for now like my other things for Pip, they follow me around the house and keep me company everyday. My girl is never far from me, in thoughts, materially through the things I have around to remind me of her and in my heart. I am indeed blessed to have the freedom to remember and grieve my child so openly. 

Back up

It's been far too long without any progress on the quilt front. For the past two months I've put aside Pip's quilt to focus on another quilt for my brother. 


It seemed like a good idea at the time to start this big (queen sized) quilt in October, to be ready for Christmas!  It was a simple pattern and I thought I'd get it done - which I did, funnily enough - but not without it's own fair share of panic and anxiety. It looked pretty good in the end and gave me a chance to dust the cobwebs off my piecing and quilting skills. 


But now I'm longing to get back to Pip's quilt. I haven't started yet because we will soon be moving abroad to our new home and I'm worried about misplacing or loosing bits of it in the move. Not to mention the madness that is cleaning, decluttering and packing for the move in itself, which leaves me with little time on a good day.


So that's where things were at when I happened to pop into Spotlight (a local fabric and craft supply store) at lunchtime one day while I was at work. It's funny how things find you when you're not looking. Have you ever had that happen? It usually happens to me with books. I find the right book I need to read at that time, or it finds me rather, just when I'm not looking.


Ok so maybe *I* didn't find it. My lovely Jeanette found it and called me over straight away. And there it was. Nothing outstandingly amazing. It probably wouldn't win any competitions, but nonetheless it was perfect for me and perfect for Pip's quilt. I bought what was left over on the roll. 

It also almost has all of Pip's colours in it too. I love the words because I will never forget how tiny she was. So tiny that my Obstetrician had to zoom in many, many  times on the screen before we could see her. Laying there so still. So sweet and so loved because she is. I just know it. 


The only words missing are "so sad". But perhaps the flood of tears that have already gone into the other pieces of this quilt have covered that sentiment better than printed words ever will be able to. 

A blessed year

As the end of 2011 approached, I truly could not wait for the year to end. Good riddance to a very bad year. I am so ready for 2012, bring it on! A fresh start. Goodbye old hurts. Hello new blessings. 

That was until I read my beautiful friend, Nat's thoughts on this time of year. You have to know what Nat's been through to understand why her words inspired me. When I read her reflections on 2011, I realised that I had been looking at the year solely through a lens of regret and sorrow. 

Yes, my baby is dead. 

No, I will never get to meet her (not on earth at least). 

No, I still haven't figured out how you grieve for someone you love with all your heart but haven't met.  

Slowly and surely as I sat here reading Nat's words and hearing her perspective, I felt like a veil had lifted and for a moment my heart and my spirit felt lighter. 

Yes all of those horrible, awful and painful things are still true. Nothing can and will ever be able to erase that part of this experience. Even so, no matter how godawful losing my baby was, I still had her. 

What an incredible blessing! I feel like such an idiot because for so long, I'd allowed myself to forget what a huge honour and privilege it was to be Pip's mummy. Being pregnant with her was truly one of the happiest times of my life. I felt like I was floating on a cloud. With every moment that passed, I loved her more and more. My words cannot do justice to just how happy, special and blessed I felt to be carrying her. 

If someone were to wave a magic wand and give me the opportunity to well and truly erase my pregnancy with Pip out of my life, I wouldn't do it. I would never, ever give those 11 weeks back. Even though she only really lived for 6.5 weeks which is little more than half of that time. The rest of the time I was willing her to live, praying for a miracle and hoping against hope that this was all a horrible nightmare. Still, I would do it all again in a heartbeat even if I were to know in advance that she wouldn't make it.

In my hurt, I was only looking forward to new blessings. I'd turned my back on all the other good things that had happened in 2011. Family, travel, love, joy and peace. None of that mattered after Pip was gone. The hurt is so big sometimes that I can't look past it. And in that hurt, I'd lost sight of the the single biggest blessing of 2011. My beautiful baby girl.

I don't know what 2012 will bring. I know that my experience is nothing compared to the scope of what so many other people go through and have to live with every single day. Yes, this hurt feels so big right now. So big that some days I wonder if I will ever not feel broken anymore. 

Yes, 2012 could be worse, without a doubt. But I'm hoping that it won't be. I'm hoping for another wonderful year. Another year of amazing miracles, blessings, joy, laughter and most of all hope. 

I don't want to lose sight of the beauty of my dreams. I don't want to ever be so caught up in my hurt that I forget what a beautiful blessing my little Pip was. We wanted her so desperately. Then we found out she was here. She grew rapidly in the short time she was here, then she stopped. I didn't want to give her back. I fought, I willed her to live, I raged, I cried and I pleaded. I held on to her for as long as my body allowed me to. Then she was ripped out of me. The emptiness came and I never thought I'd get past that darkness. Most days I'm still empty and it is still pretty dark. But now I know in my heart that she is transformed and I know she lives on. Somewhere, somehow, I know she is okay.

And maybe feeling that in my heart is giving me the permission I need to continue living my life, one broken day at a time. At this moment, there is only the now. My life right now is a collection of moments. One moment after another, one day at a time, one foot in front of the other. Maybe someday those baby steps will grow into bigger steps. Who knows, one day when I'm not looking, it might even mean feeling as okay again as possible. 

I don't know when, how or what that day will be like. But there is a small part of me that is hoping that maybe that day will come in 2012.

Here's to the new year, may it bring us all peace, love and joy.

The storm during the calm

After a lovely, big and chaotic family Christmas, we're home again. I am so grateful that our first Christmas without Pip wasn't as devastatingly horrible as I thought it would be. 

While it was still very difficult and while I still felt that hole in my heart, the day itself passed quickly. I think the busyness of the day helped to ease the hurt a little.

It's boxing day, the day after Christmas and somehow I just can't bear to look at these bright and happy ornaments any longer. So down they come and back into the box they go for another year. 

I used to be that girl who had my tree up in November and would maybe start thinking about taking it down in January when everyone around me grumbled about how long we've already had it up for. I loved Christmas. It hasn't even been 24 hours and now Christmas is already neatly packed away. Out of sight, waiting in the darkness for next year to roll around.

Maybe what this is, is a delayed reaction to Christmas. Now that I am in a quiet moment, by myself and in a place where I can think about my girl uninterupted, I realise that the storm hasn't truly passed. It's still there.

It's easy to get caught up in thoughts like Will it ever pass? It's a lot harder to try to stay positive for another day and to continue hoping for a better tomorrow. But sometimes hope is all there is. 

This too shall pass. Hang on to hope for a better tomorrow.

Dear December, no offense, but you suck. Can we please fast forward to February next year.

Yours Sincerely,

San.

With Brave Wings She Flies

The longer I am on this road, the more I realise I don't know. Every single day I discover another thing I thought I knew, which really, I didn't really know until that moment. It's a bit hard to explain, but some of these things are smack-you-in-the-face obvious, some are a bit ridiculous and others are just plain strange. 

This week, I discovered that one of those things I didn't really know is how much I worry about my Pip and how she may be, even though she is no longer. Now this may sound strange for a woman who is grieving the baby who started to grow then died suddenly inside her. I guess that doesn’t really make sense, but perhaps the closest way to put it is I need to know that my child is alright, wherever she may be right now. Be that heaven, a parallel universe or just dead. I know that sounds awkward but it's just so hard to explain this feeling without sounding stupid. So I will leave it to be what it is.

I have been dreading this week just as I have been dreading the approach of Christmas. I'm that person you probably know who loves Christmas, Birthdays, Anniversaries...you name it, I probably love it! 

Until now. 

For the first time in forever, I'm not excited about Christmas. I'm not even really looking forward to it. Part of me is sad that I seem to have become the Grinch that doesn't really like Christmas or maybe I'm morphing into that Bah Humbug person. But the other part of me understands that it will never be the same again. And that is okay too.

I've been finding a lot of comfort in my fellow babyloss mamas blogs. There are so many amazing ideas out there on how to honour our babies. I read them all and file mental notes on what I can probably pick up on soon or in the future. So when I came across Fran’s 12 days of Christmas posts, I loved hearing from all her different guests on how they honoured their children. 

Which is how I stumbled upon her blog giveaway for day 8 (part 2). 

The moment I saw this necklace that was donated by Beth Quinn, I was in love. It wasn't in a coveting sort of "must have that" love, it was just that feeling that made my heart sing in a way I thought impossible in a time when everything hurts so much. 

If you read Fran's post, she explains Beth's concept behind the necklace: 

"...her piece “with brave wings she flies”  was created from knowing that everyone she has there own story .. life isn’t always easy … every she is going through or has been through a life experience that has challenged them in some way  .. and sometimes we just need a little reminder that we are brave and we can fly .. making it through our journey of life .."

I remember reading this at the time and the more I looked at the picture, the more I thought that if by some miracle I won this with my very ordinary entry post, I would take it as a sign from the universe that Pip is okay. And so I entered my name along with the 129 other hopefuls to have a chance at winning this beautiful piece of art.

I was so convinced I didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of winning that I actually didn't even really pay attention to the time when the winners of her giveaways would be announced. I just vaguely remembered that it was sometime during that weekend. 

On the Monday morning, I logged on to see who the lucky person was and almost fell of my chair when I read this. I literally had to read it about five times to make sure that it wasn't a joke!

And even then, I still couldn't believe it. I emailed Fran in a blurry haze of tears and asked for confirmation and told her what winning this necklace, with those words, at this time of my life meant to me. Then cried some more.

It really seemed too good to be true. I was entering a giveaway for the first time on her blog and to be honest, I'm not really the kind of person who wins things!

Over the next few days, both Fran and Beth were in touch and I only said thank you about a hundred times to them both, I must have sounded like a broken record. But how else do you express a sense of gratitude like this?

I know there may be some out there who probably think I'm reading too much into this coincidence, but I still love the thought that perhaps this is my girl telling me that she is indeed okay and will wear it when it arrives to remind me that she is somewhere better now, pain free. Maybe someday when this heartache isn't quite so severe (will that time really come, I wonder?) I may be able to wear it for myself as a symbol of this experience and a reminder that I too, have flown before and maybe, just maybe, can fly again. Broken wings or not.

Thank you so much Fran and Beth Quinn, from the bottom of my heart.

Three months on

My darling girl,

Three months ago today I had no idea that it would be the day that you would leave us forever. I knew the day would come when it would happen and yet spent everyday hoping that it wouldn't. Nothing - absolutely nothing - could have prepared my heart for the agony of loosing you. 

I hate those words. Who comes up with them?

Miscarriage. I didn't mis-carry anything. I carried you with love, joy and pride for every moment I knew you were here with me and long after you were gone. 

Loss. I didn't loose you like a person looses their keys. I will always carry you with me in my heart. 

 

The lead up to this day has NOT been easy. I've always looked at milestones as markers of progress. Usually happy markers. But I can tell you that this marker has royally sucked.

If everything had gone well, I'd be five months pregnant now. You'd be swimming and dancing and kicking your little hands and feet. Instead I have a ginormous hole in my heart and an endless supply of tears. Let me tell you that your mama is not a woman who usually cries a lot, but after you died my girl, the tears just seem to keep coming.

I know you are always here with me and I hope you will always feel me close to you too. Today I cried and cried at the strangest of moments. It was just another day at work, but grief doesn't recognise professional boundaries. I cried when I drove to work, I cried when I drove home from work and I cried as I drove around in between appointments at work.

Just when I think I'm healing and that this crater in my heart isn't so big anymore, there comes the rain and along with it another mudslide of emotions. Just another day in the life of your mother who misses you more than I can even verbalise. 

I thought that the missing you feeling would grow smaller as time goes by, but today my heart is missing you terribly. This pain doesn't seem to be growing smaller. Some days I'm tricked into thinking that my heart is healing, just a little bit and that maybe, just maybe I'm having an okay kind of day. Then all of a sudden, just when I'm not looking another explosion of grief sneaks up on me and just like that the hurt is back.

I knew today would be hard. I even had a plan to help me get through the day! I wanted to do something a little bit special in your memory, so I dragged daddy along to the shops this evening and together we stood for ages in a florist shop while I tried to pick out just the right combination of flowers for you.

We almost had all your colours. Red for love, yellow for hope and baby pink for our baby girl but it's hard to find an aqua flower. Aqua for your March birthstone, of course. After a very long time of picking different flowers up and putting them down again, walking around, picking some more up and putting some down, picking the ones I'd put down up again etc. Probably also much to the annoyance of the florist in the store when we declined her help politely. (I mean what else does one say?)

Florist: Can I help you there?
Me: I'm trying to pick out the perfect bouquet for my baby who died 3 months ago. Can you suggest anything? 

Finally, I felt I had it mostly right. No aqua this time sweetheart, but I promise I'll have something aqua for you next time. Red gumnuts (it felt like an Australian version of baby's breath. The florist didn't have any baby's breath so this seemed like a good alternative) and pink and yellow gerberas. I wonder if I'll be able to find some apple blossoms one day for you, those would be perfect for my Pip.

I had to wait a few days for the gumnuts to burst open and I didn't think that the gerberas would last very long because they usually fade fairly quickly and their fragile petals bruise easily too, but your flowers still look as beautiful as the day we bought them. I love looking at your flowers and can't help but wonder if you like them too. 

Are there flowers in heaven, little one? What are your favourites?

I wish so much that you could have stayed my darling girl. I miss you so, so much every single day and night. I've said so many little prayers and sent up lots of love just for you. I hope you felt that little bit more loved today for it.

P/s: I love you even more today than I did 3 months ago,I didn't think that was possible! 

Rest in peace my beloved angel.

Love Always,
Mummy xxx

Angry yet grateful

Today I am a mixed bag of emotions. I've spent most of today quietly working on a quilt which is to be someone's Christmas present and I am trying to decide what the hell I'm feeling. 

I feel a bit guilty that I've put Pip's quilt aside this time of year to work on other Christmas presents. I've finished making most of the stuff I've wanted to make for the crafty secret santa exchange. But then I was suddenly inspired to start making this (double bed sized) quilt in October and now I'm on a race against time to finish it before Christmas! Am I crazy? Yes I probably am. 

I have been feeling a bit out of sorts, so when I feel a bit out of sorts, I withdraw, find some personal space and see where I end up. Usually I find myself in the company of my other baby loss mama's at their blogs. I read their words and cry with them. It's not fair that a child should die so soon.

Then I get angry when I read about these beautiful mothers struggling through milestones like thanksgivings, christmas' and birthdays. I am really not looking forward to the 23rd of March 2012, the day I should have been anticipating with great delight and anticipation because it was Pip's estimated due date. Would she have been an early baby or would she have been late like her mummy? 

My heart aches when I hear about other pregnant couples we are friends with preparing for the arrival of their little ones. Nurseries being decorated, shopping for baby things, pregnancy cravings, aches and pains and the most difficult of all to cope with - pictures of scans with happy healthy babies. I have happy sad moments when I see those scans. So happy and grateful that this little person is growing healthy and strong, but so very sad that my little person did not reach that milestone.

I get angry when I see these beautiful cakes, works of art that my beautiful grieving mothers have made in the memory of their children. There should be parties, off-key Happy-birthday- to-you's and presents. Instead there is only emptiness, tears and heartbreak. I don't think I'd be strong enough to bake Pip a cake on the 23rd of March. I'd probably end up throwing it at a wall if I didn't ruin it by crying a river into it first during the baking process. 

I love seeing how my angel mummy friends remember their children everyday and especially at Christmas. I love the photos of all the intricate and beautiful ornaments they have chosen so carefully, special colours, special inscriptions, special designs, some especially ordered and handcrafted to hang on the tree. Friends from near and far reaching out to each other offering special words of comfort, letters, cards and extra shoulders to lean on. 

Then I am so angry that I used to love going Christmas shopping. Now I walk into store after store drawn to the ornaments like an obsessed woman and instead of finding one for my baby with excitement, I'm looking for one with great sadness. An angel to sit on my tree. An angel for my baby who should be here with me. 

I have my angry at the world moments, of course. I see beautiful families and adorable children wanting their parents' attention. For God's sake, pick your child up and give them a cuddle, tell them they are precious, beautiful and loved. Instead I see tired parents yell at their equally tired children for wasting their time. One mother I saw swooped down on her son and smacked him like I've never seen a parent smack a child before. 

Ah christmas...a time for joy and cheer.

I sit at my desk and make things for my friends to show them that their children are never forgotten, always in the hearts of those who remember. And there are tears, always more tears. But also great joy at having found another heart out there that understands, other mothers, women and friends who have been where I am and somehow have found the strength to continue on. 

And then I am flooded with gratitude for the amazing friends the child I never met has brought me in touch with. My wish is that no one, no mother, no father, no family should ever, ever have to live with the pain of their baby dying. Whether this be by pregnancy loss, stillbirth, miscarriage, or whatever other heartbreaking option there is available out there. I really wish it didn't exist at all. But while that may happen someday, in my world today there are too many people who have felt this pain. And so there are the baby loss groups, secret groups on facebook and the internet with those who have walked this path before. 

Then the pain becomes a little easier to bear and my heart is filled with gratitude. It would have been wonderful to have been friends with each and every one of these people in another "normal" way. But I am grateful to be going through this journey alongside them.

Today is a happy-sad day. It's an angry at the world, yet grateful for what I have day. A very mixed up day indeed.

An angel for my angel

This week must be my lucky week! I feel so blessed to be surrounded by wonderful people who show me in very special ways that they are thinking of me all the time. Jeanette surprised me today with a little angel figurine. 

I was never really much of a figurine person before all of this. To be honest, I also didn't really "get" angels. I mean I thought it was a nice concept to have a celestial being watching over you, but post-Pip angels have a whole other meaning. Do babies who die become angels? I don't know, but it's a comforting thought that even if they don't, they live on in heaven and are being cared for by angels. 

Every year we have a tradition of adding a special ornament to our christmas collection. Having been lucky enough to have lived in some interesting places, we have managed to collect some pretty special things over the years. And so this year, like every other year I'm on the lookout for lovely ornaments to add to the collection, but this year unlike every other year, I'm searching for a very special ornament to symbolise a very special person. 

This year I've been on the lookout for an angel to add to the collection. It's been so hard to keep walking into shop after shop and looking at ornament after ornament that should symbolise a happy beautiful event, but in my heart symbolises the beautiful girl who couldn't stay. So many shops and yet not one ornament seems "right" as yet. 

The search for the 2011 Christmas angel ornament continues. But in the meantime, I am grateful for beautiful people in my life who think of me when they see something special. I do love the upturned wings and the wavy hair on this little cherub, thank you Jeanette.

More fabric love and transfers

My mother-in-law popped in to see me over the weekend and brought some fabric love for Pip's quilt. I love the pink fabric with it's design of the trees and leaves and the gorgeous baby aqua blue. There is also a pack of angel transfers because I told her that I haven't been able to find any fabric with angels on it yet that I could add to the quilt, so she got these in case I wanted to add to the embroidery on the quilt. Hmm...ideas ideas! 

I'm not sure where I'll use it yet. Still haven't settled on a design for the shooting star block, but I'm sure it will make an appearance somewhere. Have I mentioned how much I love that pink? Thank you Liz, (best mother-in-law ever).

Our first Post-Pip Christmas

Every story has a beginning and an ending. Most stories usually have one significant event that changes the course of the lives of all affected by it, or many little events that make up the story itself. Whatever the story, I think that most stories also have a "pre" and a "post" and so it is that our story of Pip has a pre and a post to it also.

I've always loved Christmas. There really is no two ways about that, Christmas has always been an event in our household ever since we were married. It's a time when our family comes together, or while we were living overseas, it was a time we spent with close friends usually alongside a Christmas feast which takes almost ten times as long to cook and prepare as it takes to eat it all. We love our presents, not for what is contained in the gifts themselves, but mainly for the fun of going out and picking or making something that will give the other person joy, a laugh or two and something they may even treasure for a while.

All of the above is of course Pre-Pip.

I remember hoping last year when we'd first started trying for a baby that I would have some lovely news to share at Christmas time. What could be a better gift than knowing that a beautiful little person is growing inside you and will soon join your family? December 2010 came and went without that news I was hoping for, but despite the disappointment we had a great time together as a family and I took it in stride. 

So when I found out that we were pregnant in July this year, I was so excited about what this Christmas would be like with our little one this time. If everything has gone well, I'd be around about 5 months pregnant at Christmas time. It would also have been around the time when our baby would have started to move, dance and kick in the womb. I couldn't wait to feel that for myself and I know my family would have fawned over every little thing with this baby. 

In a Post-Pip world, Christmas will come and go as usual. There will be the usual Christmas feast with the usual suspects. But there will be one little person missing from the picture. I don't think Christmas will ever be the same again for me. For the first time in what feels like forever, I'm not looking forward to Christmas. At all. Where before there was a feeling of excitement and anticipation, now there only seems to be an empty bleakness.

Loosing Pip was like being hit by the grief and loss freight train. Most days I'm surprised that I have barely survived. At first there is nothing but numbness. Then comes the incredible pain which is all consuming. Then slowly by slowly I've started to learn how to take that pain and live with it. Now I feel like I'm getting ready to start doing all the things I've done normally before, only knowing that life will never be the same again. This is my new normal.

And so as Christmas rolls around this year, somehow quite by accident I've just realised that I'm part of 4 different Secret Santa's. One for work, one with a bunch of my special girlfriends and the other two are for two separate baby loss networks I'm a part of. The handmade holiday gift exchange with the girls at Grieve out Loud (GOL) and the other is a baby loss mama's group on facebook.

The handmade holiday gift exchange appeals to me because it's handmade. These past few months have had the recurring theme of handmade. Pre-Pip I'd lost my connection with handmade, but Post-Pip I've slowly started to rediscover that connection and how much I truly love making things with my hands. 

Now I'm both excited and scared about what I will be making to exchange which I joined at the last minute by the grace of my lovely penpal at GOL. But therein lies the miracle. Where before I wasn't looking forward to any part of Christmas, now there is a little glimmer of hope and something different. Maybe Christmas will never be the same again, but maybe like my new normal, it may just take a little bit of getting used to.