A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

It's a little known fact that I am, in fact, a Superhero.

On one of our first, fledgling forays into the titillating area of our relationship, we got caught. I was 18, living at home with Dad. We were living in a rambling old '40s era house in an old leafy suburb, it was a great house. The front entrance was open to the lounge room to the right, the kitchen was accessed via one of two doorways, one straight ahead of the front door, the other facing the dining room and with a two-way swinging hinged door which opened onto that room. There was a sunroom past the dining area, tacked on the back of the open plan house. To get there from the front door, one went either straight through the T-shaped lounge room and dining area or, if in the kitchen, simply swung open the hinged door and through the dining room.

I am setting all this architecture up in your minds so that you can fully grasp the gravity of the situation that follows.

It was a typical school day afternoon. I was in Yr 12, Steve was *supposed* to be at uni, no doubt, and instead of doing something constructive we were fooling around in the sunroom. In broad daylight. Geez, those were the days *wistfully stroking severely distended belly with the painful welts - they're no longer worthy of being deemed mere stretch marks*

Anyway, I can't remember the specifics, suffice to say somehow I was the one who ended up pasty white and bare nekid while he had left on all his clothes and simply pulled down his jeans and jocks to his ankles (typically boy-style, complete with socks still on and all). It was late-ish afternoon, not nearly late enough for anyone to be coming home from work. Unexpectedly. With briefcase in hand.

But all of a sudden, there was the over-exaggerated coming-home noises being made by Dad. He (respectfully? fearfully? playfully?) was making sooooo much noise, I knew that he knew exactly what he suspected we were up to...... he was whistling a jolly, tuneless whistle, and in case that wasn't enough, he clomped very loudly up the three steps to the front porch (making the three itty bitty steps sound like full on steps to be reckoned with), and in case that wasn't enough, he was also loudly jangling/fumbling with keys for far longer than was usual.

I stood bolt upright, stark narkered, and ran to the far corner of the sunroom. Without my previously hastily-strewn clothes. Why I did that and not just throw on my clothes, I do not know. Guess I got the guilts. And I was no cool cucumber back then. Not when I was nude, anyway....

While I did prancy nervous steps on the spot, shaking my arms (like Homer when he's missing the Chili Cookout) and eyes wide with "oh God, oh God"s, I watched as Steve simply stood from his seated pozzy on the couch, hoiked up his pants in one swift move, did up the zip and sat back down to "continue watching the cricket" innocently.

Meantime, Dad's in the front door by now, putting keys away, whistling gaily. "Hello!" he bellowed characteristically joyously. I spurred into action and called out a greeting in reply, pulling my crumpled clothes towards me in a mad scramble (they were all inside out, which could have been deemed romantic because of the "heat of the moment" passion that got them that way but were now just a fucking nuisance to turn the right side out and make presentable again). Pulling on my top while Dad carried out some conversation with me as he slowly made his way through the kitchen to, I don't know probably grab a knife to skewer Steve with, I amazed myself in hindsight at how deftly I was able to use the chit chat as a decoy to what was really going on in the next room. Just that swingy-door between us.

I jumped into my pants and whisked them up, replying conversationally to everything Dad was saying about his day. Never one to just leave it at that, and I guess to prove to myself that I had triumphantly averted danger, I sauntered towards the closed kitchen door, chatting with Dad all the while as he stood in the kitchen reading the mail.

It wasn't until I'd almost rounded the dining table, hand outstretched at the door, that I felt my other hand brush past a rogue piece of material at my side. What was that? Looking down, as if in slow motion, I realised it was a pocket. It took me a second or two to realise that I hadn't pulled my pockets inside out in my haste.... oh no. Far worse. I had put my pants on inside out, complete with undies on the outside as had been the state they'd been discarded in originally. The hoppy, unsteady banging on the old stumped floor I made as I struggled to literally rip the stitching off my undies to get them down and step out of them brought me to not only Steve's very amused attention, but also caused Dad to sing out, "What're you doing in there?"

Needless to say, I waved that off with some excuse and breezed in through the kitchen door, undies scrunched in a tight tight ball in my fist, which was now stuffed inside my pocket. And I continued to, probably very flustered-looking and giving away eeeev-er-y-thing I'd just been doing, carry out my conversation with Dad.

I think I got away with it. He certainly never said anything. But then... he's too proper to, even in gest.

And from that day on, after I recounted the story to very amused girlfriends, I was known as Supergirl, given my supposed preference to wear my undies on the outside.

Ahhh! A camera, I see you have mmmmmm

I have never seen a more worried-looking, unsure Yoda.
But shit, it's funny.

Hey, who knew Yoda had a grey muff?

A kick and a punch for the end of the month

I had a scan and Ob. appointment today.

Now, I've been a bit in the doldrums over the weekend. Lolly was not being incredibly accommodating because the kicking and tumbleturns had stopped for several days. On top of that, I feel fat. Nay, let me correct that: I AM fat. Except it's difficult to tell the difference between fluid and fat. I meet some people who say to me how "neat" I look and then just one person in the crowd has to say "Gosh you're huge" and I fall into a guilty heap that I'm going to constrict Lolly with all this blubber-fluid. Like when the neighbour who I never speak to - just cos, it's not a standoff or anything - she comes over, dainty and all Kath n' Kimmyish, and says to me, pointing, "Mmmm you're pretty big" in agreeance after I said I felt I'd put on a lot of extras around my face, arms and now legs. I hastily made my goodbyes and came inside and had a teary-fit.

Aaaaanyway, so I was blubbering on the couch *cough*with a bag of raspberry bullets*cough* kind of like, all weekend, just hanging out for my appointment yesterday.

The first thing Dr Luffley said was that I looked wonderful *sob* (he must have a chart of things he has to say before a woman leaves her appointment with him, because I swear, he tells me I look well or 'good' even when I've done my buttons up and missed one so there's a gape in my shirt and I've had only 3 hours sleep and forgotten to brush my teeth). Then, he took a look on the ultrasound monitor after I said I'd noticed the kicking had dropped away and I was hoping it was just because Lolly had turned. First, he said 'What a very sweet face' *sob sob* and showed me that, indeed, little Lollybubble has gone head down and is facing my right side with back curled the height of my left side. Then he said "So let's see if you're right, where do you suspect the feet are?" and I pointed. When he placed the wand at that spot on my belly, there was this big Hang Ten symbol of a foot - a perfect, could-have-been-a-cartoon foot, splayed across the wall of its little home. We watched as two little frog legs then kicked playfully against my placenta on my right side. Hence, I hadn't felt much because it's like kicking into a mattress, I guess.

I can't believe Lolly is bigger than Ella now. I'm finding it really hard to keep trusting we'll be in that room soon and will be staring straight into that lovely face. I don't want to begin to imagine how emotional I will be - I'm not really looking forward to being 'out of control' with all of that.... but I know I will be. So we're just keeping ourselves surrounded by people who we know will support and boost us through this last bit.

Oh my God. This last bit. There's, like...... less than 8 weeks to go. EEEEEEEP!!!!!!!!!

Here, have another funny dressed-up dog (I'm so weak. And they're so hilarious):

"In your satin tights, fighting for your rights...

...and the old red, white and bluuuuuuue."

Wonder Whatwhatwhaaaaat!?From here, of course.

Can't. Breathe.

I shouldn't listen

It started out innocently enough. But now I can't get it out of my mind, first thing in the morning it's what I think of. It's like I'm being called and I am weak for it. I think I am addicted.

Yes. I have been in love with IC Strong Iced Coffee now for at least 6 months.

The problem is, I didn't cover my tracks well enough. And Steve found out. It first started with
one empty 1.5L bottle in the recycling bin, with another on the go in the fridge door. To anyone not suspicious, this wouldn't be interesting. But ohhhhh no. Not my Steve. So I've been sneaking around behind his back. Taking the bottles straight to the wheelie bin. Shuffling off to Safeway (my dealer) during the day.

Then, in the ultimate act of stupidity a person with my addiction could make, I asked him to grab me a bottle once, about two months ago when he came with me to help me shop. 'Great!' I thought, 'I can get him to go up to the dairy section and I don't have as far to walk then.'

Yeah. Good PLAN, Einstein.

He came back, bottleless. I looked at him searchingly, checking his hands for the familiar brown container, carrying my fix. But instead, all I got was a lecture on whether I knew how much "those things" cost. My head hung. My heart sobbed.

It's been at least six weeks since my enforced cold turkey. At first, I couldn't even look at that section of the fridge as I passed by. A few weeks passed and I took my first glance, just to see if they're maybe on special, I said to myself. But there were none. There was a gap where they should have been. SOLD OUT! I thought. That'd be right.

And then, I succumbed about a week ago. I knew the section of flavoured milk was right at the end of the fridge, next to the Yakults. And the drinking yogurt. I sauntered up to the edge of the dairy case, held my hand out, and in what could very well have been a scene from a movie, I let out an audible gasp as I saw my hand in front of the spot where it SHOULD have been. No gap, no price tag. The real estate once taken up by my beloved liquid gold had been closed over, taken up by inferior Ideal Dairy and Mooove brands as far as my welling-up eyes could see.

When I got home and relayed the devastating news to Steve, he re-enacted how it must have gone down these past weeks at the IC Strong Iced Coffee factory:

*looking at imaginary endless computer-paper report and scratching head with pen* I don't get it, NSW's figures are good, SA still looks great, Victoria is fine.... but shit, the Whatman shipment isn't shifting. What's happening, people? If this keeps up, we'll have to close the doors.

Yeah, laugh it up, Funnyboy. They've stopped supplying my dealer! Now my only chance is to find some grimey servo that stocks them. And then we'll talk about how expensive it is for a 1.5L bottle of the stuff. Because you've now forced your pregnant wife to go scrounging around every Fuel Zone in the area .... and if I find a bottle, even if it's $3 for a 500ml bottle, you can bet your moccassins I'll be getting it.

*whimper* I can't stop thinkin' about the juice.

All We Want For Christmas...

...is a helper monkey

A bit of a grab-bag of thoughts

Had a really good appointment with my homoeopath yesterday. Despite our shaky start, I really do feel like I've been well supported by both his experience and, of course, the practice of this modality.

Ended up talking about a few things I didn't realise would come up. Namely, I felt free to say (admit) I had, up until the ultrasound last week, assumed my body couldn't carry a child "properly". In contrast, he sat there and said how impressed he was with how I've come to this point - no coughs, no colds or other infections (madly touching all wood within reach) bare little fluid retention, a relatively calm disposition apart from a couple of times along the way when the wheels have understandably come off.

I don't think even I realised how deeply wounded I have been by the, while always with best intentions (or so they portray/say outwardly), comments of various people since we had Ella. The offers of surrogacy, the assumption of prematurity this time - although even I was told that medically this would be the rule rather than the exception, most likely.... It's all woven itself into my view of myself as a mother capable of nurturing her as yet unborn child.

I want to scream from a mountain to however many people can hear me: BE CAREFUL, be so careful, what you say to other women - other mothers - in my position. It's not helpful at all to bloody receive offers of carrying your child for you. For heaven's sake. And I (stupidly) graciously thanked the person who offered, perpetuating their assumption that they have somehow helped or been so generous. I can't believe I contributed to puffing out even further the chest of someone who has been such a negative impact on us since Ella died (and well before, but that's for another blogspace entirely).

Well. It stops here. I feel so blessed right now. Today is the day my waters broke with Ella - in relative, gestational terms. And instead, I'm going to my breastfeeding class. I feel fit, happy, relaxed........ so excited and ready to lay eyes on this little Lolly in two+ months *saying out loud for effect so Lolly stays with the program*.

Steve Cuisine

Every time we have pizza made at home, Steve prides himself on making "the best". You may recall he's like this with toasted cheese sandwiches too (not to be confused with cheese on toast) - a certain one-time backpacker could confirm this.

Over the years, Steve has not only perfected the topping side of things and settled on a crackingly good fresh dough base, he has also perfected the now obligatory pizza-making theme music. I don't know the name of this tune (sadly, I even googled "pizza music" but I couldn't find it, strangely enough), suffice to say it is hummed like this:

S: *with much gusto and sudden over-abundant masculinity* Yut da-dut dah-dut dah-dahh, de-yut da-duddilly dahh.....

The contrast of this with the accompanying hand actions is so funny, when the hand actions involve the intricately delicate placement of chicken, pineapple, little champignon mushrooms and the likes.

If only he'd try to throw the stiff, pre-made pizza base in the air and pummel it unnecessarily as well, then I might just mistake him for authentic Italian after all.

28w6d scan...

Weight: 1562g (Ella was 1581 @ 30wks )
BPD = 7.45cm (29w2d equivalent)
HC = 26.63cm (29w1d equivalent)
AC = 26.95 (30w5d equivalent)
FL = 5.7cm (30w0d equivalent)
Peace of mind: priceless

It's the hard knock life .... for dogs

'Stead of couches, they get beds...
'Stead of inside, they're out instead
It's the hard knock life.




Miss Hannigan, signing off.

Happy annivers'ry, baby, Got you on mah mi-hind

Love a bit of Dragon in the morning.

It's our seventh anniversary today. Can't say we're wowing it up. I'm currently trying reverently not to poke the bear.... he's in bed and I want scrambled eggs with tomato on toast at a local cafe who does them to perfection. That, and we have a $5 shopper docket voucher - buy one main, get one for 5 bucks! We're nothing if not classy and bargain-hunters all rolled into one.

This was us seven loooooong years ago:


How groomed we were. How innocent and young we looked. How skinny. And........ blonde.

This is what seven years of marriage, six of which we've been trying for a family who'll actually stay and play, can do to you:

And I cannot believe it, but I have never, not once in all these years, been pregnant on any of our anniversaries. So this one is extra special. Here's us last night, at 28 weeks:
And for good measure, and also because I'm feeling generous with the photos today, I give you:

Steve's view of the world (and me):
Is it me, or does it look like he sees things through a fish-eye lens from his height??

Happy anniversary, baby.

Can you just do something for me?

Straighten your thumb and first four fingers. Keeping them straight, bring the tips of your fingers in together, like a pinch.

That's the only way I can liken the image on the ultrasound this afternoon as Dr Luffley and I giggled at Lolly with all four limbs over head. One minute I was looking straight in the face of this beautiful little baby, with arms and fists beside ever-chubbying cheeks. The next minute, the hands stretched lazily above Lolly's head and a foot appeared between both fists.

And I am cringeing all over again when, as we were marvelling at "how did both those legs get....over....there", I quipped "I used to be able to do that." Oh the shame of having a mouth that speaks before the brain thinks.

Nothing music can't fix

The wheels fell off my little red wagon yesterday.

With the wise words of some friends I am still overwhelmed at being blessed to have, a phone call to Dad and some teasing of Pepper and Jazz (photo evidence below), I felt much better by the time Steve came home.

Issues surrounding the inability of people in my life to just leave me be, to have these moments without having to justify why. Of assuming that my growing Lollybelly does not signal the end of my grief.... but rather, in some bizarre respects, enhances or spotlights it.

I am so exhausted from trying to point these things out to too many people who should know how to support us better, but who don't. I'm tired of excusing them when they're so seemingly intent on not letting me go at my own pace. Steve and I discussed last night that I'm allowing the actions of so few overshadow the good, decent, easy relationships we have with so many more. Our dinner guests on Saturday night, for a perfect example. Wonderful and easy to be around. At the end of the night when we'd all dispersed to different areas of the house to chill out, one of them leaned in to me and in a rare moment of seriousness (because he's a blessed dag) enquired "Now.... are we going to need to watch out for you, all hormones and jokes aside?" I nearly collapsed on him there and then and said "Take it all away now! In a tip truck. Please!" Instead, composed, I thanked him profusely and said "Yes please, all three of us." It's such a relief to know that, as he and his wife said, we don't have to do or explain anything. We simply have to see them. They'll take care of the rest. I know that. And it's such a relief, I can't even explain how much.

Back to yesterday, though, I was also starting to be gripped from the inside out with fear that something may well go wrong this time too, which has been pointed out to me on several occasions is the fear of "all expectant mothers". But, see, it's that last little three letter word which widens the chasm between me (and grieving mothers like me) and other expectant mothers - not "all" of us at all. That little word... "too"... it changes everything. It means as well. It means what if something happens this time AS WELL. And it hurts to have it said to me that I am going through what any other mother goes through. I'm not trying to be precious here. I'm stating a fact, how I feel. It's akin to when I was told that "all mothers are sad on their child's first birthday, particularly their first child." Erm.... except I didn't think I needed to point out to this person the blatantly obvious fact that, uh, my child wasn't here for her first birthday. I was infuriated that I was so invalidated by that one flippant, off-the-cuff remark and found it very difficult to find something within myself to forgive the person for being so way off the mark.

After talking to Dad, I felt much better. Dad's a very logical man. He's a Doctor of Civil Engineering, a title which means little to me in terms of understanding what he does but makes me burst with pride that he's someone who's made a huge dint in his industry and is known in his field worldwide. Not necessarily liked by all, but respected for his intelligence and ability to put forth a point nonetheless. I inherited from him my deep sense of moral justice. Unfortunately, I also inherited from the other side of the family a crazy self-victimisation technique. I like to call it chatterbox brain.

My chatterbox brain just would not SHUT UP yesterday until Dad rationalised away my proclamations. He didn't patronise, he never once said I was being unreasonable or silly. Quite the contrary, he masterfully Jedi-mind-tricked me to calmness and laughter by agreeing with me and saying lots of "yes of courses" and "mmm I can't imagines" in the most tender tone. And he talked me through what we DO know: that by now with all the monitoring I've been having, an unbalanced translocation of mystery is off the cards - 99.5% certainty of that - the heart makeup appears to be perfect, growth rates are above par...... and that all these other things I'm conjuring up that "could" happen, well, as he said "Why would you want to add in more risk factors when you've dodged the ones that are most likely for you?"

He's right. It was as if I dropped the heavy cloak I'd been struggling to keep up round my shoulders. I immediately felt lighter. And cried huge sobs of relief that I have these intelligent people in my life to carry me this last little part.

So I celebrate this morning with a good dose of loud iTunes random plays from our extensive and diverse mix. I just finished I Go To Rio and am now rawkin' to Trick Me by Kelis. Is that wrong? Oh, next we have Everyone Deserves Music by dear young Michael Franti. Gotta go. Jig to dance.

Mere milliseconds before the nuclear bomb hit

Steve looks around for the blame hound.

The Barter System

K: I want a cheese slice

S: *trudges off and returns triumphantly*

S: *hands cheese slice over between index and middle finger with an air of 'breadwinner doling out money to the trophy wife'* Git yourself something nice.

K: Ta... D'you think in the history of time, they ever paid for goods or services with cheese?

S: Yeah, and what if they didn't have change? "I'm sorry, do you have anything smaller?" *nibbles cheese slice down to smaller denomination to pay for invisible item*

Yep our pets' heads definitely fell off today

Every so often, usually the third time in a day when the shit hits the fan / straw breaks the camel's back / dumb stuff happens, Steve and I will turn to each other and quote that piss-funny line from Dumb And Dumber - Jim Carrey's character turns to his friend, at the end of a rather arduous day and few moments when they don't know which way is up, and he says in a tension-filled voice barely holding it together, "Our pets' heads are falling off!!!!" and points in the direction of the cage containing their budgie, whose head has indeed "fallen off" (cos it was ripped off by the Gas Man... oh... have I watched it too many times?).

So. Today. This happened to me:

• At around 11.30 this morning, after I worked on Easter Monday to catch up on some work and finally feeling all caught up and in control today for the first time in months, the power went out.
The guy who came to mow the public reserve in our court mowed over the electrical box at the top of the street. Why? Because he "thought it wasn't connected up". Well, Dick'ead, it doesn't mean you need to go near it, let alone mow right the fuck over it!!!!!

• Decided I should get out of the house and go get some refunds from little Johnnie, c/o Medicare. So when I get there, why is it so packed? The carpark, I mean. I saw one of those Parents With Prams spaces, empty, going begging. But gee, I know there are some angry young "ladies" out there who would be haughty enough - even in my bedraggled, lazy-limp, hobbling state - who would take issue with me, and I was in no mood to foight to the death. Or maybe I was..... *pauses with finger on chin*
So instead, I parked in, oh, just the FURTHEST PARK from the door!

• I had to get petrol at the most expensive I have ever seen it in my State: $1.39L, people! I mean, WTF??

• When I pulled up at the pump, I stopped the car, did my usual new "thing" which was slide the seat back and manouver myself out the door with both legs together to try and minimise contributing to this stupid hip and symphisis pubis dickis idiotis dysplasia I've got happening. I did all this with a fair bit of effort, and in wind gusts of bloody a bazillion knots (ok, I'm getting silly now), only to find that I had parked at the opposite side to the petrol tank. RAAAAAAHHHH!

• I was gone for two hours and came back to be told by a neighbour that we shouldn't "expect power to be returned til sometime this afternoon."
And so I rested. I slept. I pruned. I baked a cake. Sounds nice, doesn't it? Except, it was vewy vewy qwiet all day. I had a lot of things I needed to do that involved electricity. But I am proud of myself - my idle mind didn't eat ONE square of that chocolate, sitting over there.

• Power only came back on at 5.30. That's 5.30 PM, dear reader.

So, once again, we usually claim heads-off-pets when several shitty things happen in a minimal time frame. I believe I can declare our pets' heads are indeed falling off. For sure.

Sing along!

"One of these paws is not like the oth-errr..."

Steve's pipe dream venture

"If I started a dog grooming salon, I'd call it Ruffcuts."
"Would you?"
"Yeah. And I'd make everyone say it like this - *gravelly Muttley-type voice* Rrrrrruffcuts."
"And you would make the staff say it like that when they answered the phone?"
"Yeah."
"And customers?"
"Yeah. If they say it they get 10% off."

He's reeeeeeeally thought alot about this....

Music and light

I've chosen The Music I'm going to say was "current" the day/year Lolly was born (you know that section in the obligatory Birth Book/First Year diary thing) and will buy the album to give to Lolly.

I am not ashamed to say I am thoroughly besotted with Corinne Bailey Rae. Girl, put your records on. Indeed. Her whole album is just lovely. Call Me When You Get This, Like A Star, Butterfly.... what gorgeous, gorgeous songs! And of course, the aforementioned Put Your Records On, well... we rock out to that daily, me and Lolly (cos Lolly has no choice). I don't think I could ever tire of it (or crying happily to it, well maybe once the hormones settle I won't cry anymore... hnnngh).

Hey, it's better than comemmorating the occasion with one of the real popular current songs... hmmm, let's seeee, we've got Wasabi by Lee Harding (erm, let me think, NOPE), an insipid Delta Goodrem song (ahhh, no) or anything by The Sugababez or Pussycat Dolls (are they still pumping them out?).

Melancholy reflective day

I just read of a mum who lost her baby girl in her womb at 36 weeks 4 days. My heart is bleeding for this young woman who I'll never lay eyes on and my eyes are crying tears I don't want to share with her.

I recall my heart being soooooooo, so, so heavy it physically hurt. If I had ONE wish, and I mean this, it would be that no mother, no father, would ever have to experience that sheer unbelievable tragedy - incomprehensible grief.

She wrote so beautifully, so honestly, and her words echoed how I have felt.... A mother-daughter relationship cut short. A life beginning and all the preparations you make within yourself to save a place in your home and in your heart for your little girl. Everything I started to open myself up to - I've never been particularly girly. I was a kick-around kind of kid, not delicate or fragile either in spirit or physique. But I softened. I softened so, so much. I started wearing pink even when I was carrying Ellanor (unheard of for me) because I found it comforted me and I felt so nurtured. I felt like I was already nurturing her. I wanted to continue developing my newfound softness - I always had it, I've always been gentle, but hid it so far down for fear of being hurt or pointed and laughed at or considered weak.... Ella catalysed the awakening of those innate feelings.

And then I couldn't grow them. Because she was suddenly not here. And I was left wiiiide open, newly soft and gracious and gentle. And so bereft.

This girl's story has really affected me. I've seen her thread sitting there and to be honest, I haven't been able to go in and read it. I have said before and will say here again: mothers who deliver their children born still have lived my nightmare. It leaves me cold. And they are left to tread with their arms empty and their hearts in shreds. Slowly as everything shifts and lifts, some lucky ones find focus and meaning and reason - I am one of the very lucky ones, my daughter not only had a purpose but she almost went so far as to leave written instructions, literally (I mean, have any of you read the Earth Angel story on her website? That's no accident, that story).... cheeky little angel - but I wonder how the others cope. The ones who for years are desperate for peace, just searching. But nothing, NOTHING, anything anyone says will ever give them that. Especially not in the beginning.

So I sit here with a contented little new life doing Richard Simmons exercises in my belly. I think of that mother who recently had the worst realisation of her life: in one swift moment, her life was forever changed, she was forever changed - even when she's happy in months and years to come, there's not anything, not another child, not all the material riches in the world, can quite fill the void. A mother who had borne a stillborn baby boy at 39 weeks told me, the day Ella died (she was my midwife and I was shocked to discover this person I had been drawn to all along since Ella's birth and in the month before she died, had been carrying this secret, and why would she divulge it of course... and she worked with babies for a calling, no less), that I was never going to be the same again. It stuck in my gut like I'd been knifed with a dagger. Along with everything else we had just lost, we had also lost ourselves as we knew "us". The grieving for who you were is something no one really realises is also happening for the parents, as it is overshadowed by the overwhelming impact of the baby's death.

It goes without saying, then, that even when things settle and the first months/years are lived through and coping goes back to being second nature rather than the thing that gets you through hour by hour til you can just sleep again and make it all go away, it astounds me that there are still some people who are of the belief that new life dissolves what has gone before. That the baby I grieved for and the me I grieved for are now "behind me". I vehemently refute this projected assumption, it is such a crime of compassion (can you tell this is a current hot topic in our house due to recent circumstances?).

And now I look forward while constantly casting a despairing glance back. At opportunities lost, at experiences I had to leave behind two years ago, but that are all converging in one big heap now; the closer we get to happiness in this never-ending quest to nurture our healthy, growing family, the alternately further I get from her. My girl.

She's not lost. But sometimes I am.