Sunday, September 26, 2010

love and a snickers bar

Oh for the love of Pete, my house looks like a tornado ripped through it. Just call me Dorothy.
There are piles and piles of stuff just everywhere. It's getting ridiculous. I cleaned this damn house just a couple of days ago, and now we look like something from Hoarders.

I would have cleaned up tonight, but we spent all day at roller derby (grand finals!!)(we won!!) and I decided lying in bed watching Property Ladder, eating a Snickers bar and reading blogs was a much better idea.

I think I might actually reach Iron Commenter status this month after YEARS of wishing I could! Of course this means my other blogs are completely neglected and my google reader is overflowing. Meh. Can't win 'em all...

Look at what my Roccie sent me:

Love. Just love.

I fucking love the blogosphere man. Across the world, my starbaby has touched a life, so much that someone I've never met, took a photo of a car they saw randomly with his bloggy nickname on it. Blows my mind.

Saturday, September 25, 2010

just another saturday night...

Tonight I made an actual meal, planned in advance - corned beef cooked in the slow cooker all day. Decided at dinner time I didn't want it, ordered chinese instead.
Stuffed my face with satay chicken, steamed dim sim and crispy steak with plum sauce.
Sat here and read Edenland from start to finish. Think I may be in love with this ocka woman in the mountains ;)
Ate a full bag of prawn chips.
Got sick of getting up and down to the fridge so bought the 2L bottle of pepsi to me instead and am swigging it from the bottle. Lou would smack me if she knew. Good thing she piked on me at 9pm.
Spent an inordinate amount of time staring at the little footprint on my hip. Am just overwhelmed by it.
Wondered why the hell my 8 year old is incapable of switching off the bathroom light (also why he insists on using the upstairs bathroom even when he is downstairs in his room (and the downstairs bathroom is right next to his room)).

Pretty happening night here, by all accounts.

Saturday nights for me used to mean wild times, insane adventures and too many substances to count. Now the only adventures I have are vicariously through Walker, Texas Ranger (oh Chuck Norris you action hero you).

Friday, September 24, 2010

in love with ink...

I had such a beautiful time being tattooed, it's a bit of a high I have to come down from now ;)

My tattoo artist is an old friend, who I have known for over ten years now. It's one of those funny friendships where you lose touch, then pick up, then lose touch, then pick up.

We talked about everything. We talked about miscarriages and foster care and adoption. We talked about my evil SIL and her psycho ex boyfriend. We talked about gypsies and going bush. We talked about our mutual friend and how in love he is for the first time and how beautiful and strange his new boyfriend is. We talked about zombies and artists. We talked about mushrooms and the youth of today and how much they suck. Then we laughed about becoming crotchety old ladies (keep in mind neither of us are close to thirty yet....)

It was so relaxed. I helped her mix up the colours to get the right shades. I took photos as she worked. It was one of the loveliest experiences and I would go back every week if I could.

I am so in love with my new ink that I can't stop staring at it. I used to pull out Starbaby's envelope of footprints so often and stare at them. Now I can just look down and he's there. Its a beautiful thing, I can't explain what it means to have it there, and what it means that she was the one to put it there.

She kept saying "I hope I do him justice"

You did darling. In spades.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Wordless Wednesday - New Ink

Almost Wordless Wednesday (I can't help myself!)

Each blossom to represent each of my lost babies...

Starbaby's actual footprint :)
He had big feet for a 3lb baby!

Lovely new ink from my beautiful friend. Ignore the fact I still look pregnant in my last photo...I assure you I'm not :(

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

ICLW rolls around again

Well well it's ICLW again already!

For the first time in awhile I am not mid-IVF this ICLW. I should be, but my clinic are a bunch of raving incompetents.....I digress.

A brief rundown of who I am as a blogger would say:
My name is Suzy.
I have three babies - two boys on earth, one boy in the stars. He was stillborn at term in February 2008 and my heart aches for him every day.
I am now TTC again via IVF/ICSI and have had two consecutive miscarriages at 7 weeks.
I am starting to think that it will never happen for us and that we are just going through the motions.
I watch too much TV.
I recently had a major health scare as my specialists believed I had large brain tumours.
Turns out I don't. Thanks for scaring 10 years off my life though.
I love all three of my children fiercely.
I'm a wannabe perfect housewife who has an aversion to cleaning.
I love my camera and wish I had more time to perfect my art.

That's me. In a nutshell. Welcome. Kick off your shoes in the hallway (everyone else here does) and make yourself at home.

Monday, September 20, 2010

nothing but blue skies

I went for a walk yesterday. I needed to buy some baking supplies to make my MIL a birthday cake, so I decided to take Manny for a walk to the supermarket instead of driving. There were looming angry looking grey clouds all around, but I just grabbed jackets and blankets and went anyway.

Incredibly, the sun shone on us the entire walk there, and back (about 35-40 minutes). I got so warm I took off my cardigan and walked in short sleeves. Rainclouds everywhere, but directly above us, blue sky.

My losses are those grey rainclouds. Always looming, always there on the periphery of my life. But there is always a patch of blue sky, and today I am choosing to walk in the sun.

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Motivation...or lack thereof

I want to be better. Better than I am right now. I want to get off my ass and do something but I continue to pitifully make excuses for myself.

"Manny is sick, when he gets better I will xxxx"

"I just need to get over the miscarriage, then I'll xxxx"
closely followed by "I just need to get over this miscarriage, then I'll xxxx"

"As soon as I get over this cold I'll xxxx"

But here I still sit night after night, watching reruns of ER and surfing through blogs.

I want to have an immaculate house where everything has a place. Who am I kidding? I vaccuum twice a day in our living/kitchen area, so vast is the mess my boys create in mere minutes. Immaculate is just not going to happen. Between my darling boys creating chaos in every direction, and my Lou coming home and leaving bags/coats/miscellaneous crap strewn from one end of the house to the oasis is more of a junkpile. Plus everything here is so temporary. We are only here until we sell our other house and get the money to renovate. Then we will renovate and sell this place and buy our forever house. So at the moment we feel like we are living as squatters here.

I want to finally get back into creating. I want to take more photos. I want to finally start some photobooks of the boys. I want to use all the reams and reams of fabric I have sitting in the garage.

I want to finally jump into my own business. I know that I would be happier if I were kept busy instead of sitting here wishing I had the motivation to do something. WHen it's not urgent, I just don't do anything. I have discovered that I have only got proper motivation if I have a looming deadline and then I panicpanicpanic, stay up until 4am daily and gogogo until it is done, and am always amazed by the results.

I guess I am writing this all out in the hope that by having it all out there in black and white it will motivate me somehow. Hey, anything is worth a shot at this point!

And to finish this midnight post...I constantly feel like my heart might burst with gratitude for the fact that I do not have brain tumours! And my babies are strong and healthy and my partner is here, and healthy and alive. Honestly, I do not want anything more out of this life than that.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

All clear :)

As the title suggests, there was indeed good news at the CT scan.
It was a harrowing day waiting to find out, and convincing myself the news would be bad.

I made so many promises that day.
I could barely focus on my work at all.
I sat in the bathrooms just praying over and over.
I handed over my fertility that day.

I promised to anyone who may have been listening, that if he/she/it/theuniverse could see to it that I did not have brain tumours, I would accept never having any more children.
Big call huh?
I never said I would stop trying, but now, if we are never successful, I understand why, and I am grateful.

As I said over and over that day...I love my life, and I want to continue to live it.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

eternal optimism

This afternoon I go for CT scans. Not looking forward to (a) the radiation and probability than my cancernoia will actually be the cause for me getting cancer from the number of scans I have (b) having to actually have the contrast dye injection which I have managed to avoid until now and (c) the wait after the scan to find out if I have massive brain tumours pressing on my optic nerves. Yeah I'm an optimist.

To tell you the truth I am terrified. More terrified than ever before. My eyes have become so bad in the last three days that I can hardly read the words I am typing (thank god for those touch typing classes in tenth grade). I have never been so convinced that there actually might be something drastically wrong. I may bitch and complain but I love my life and would like to continue living it for many many years.

So far today is not going all that well, so I am hoping all the shit will be out of the way before I head in. Just contacted the crappy clinic to talk to my doctor about doing a FET this cycle...only to be told "Well he's away until the 2nd of October, but I'll certainly pass him that message then" Are you fucking kidding me? I'd like to know why it skipped his mind to tell me this when I spoke to him just over a week ago. This means waiting at least another cycle and when you feel like you're running out of time...well one cycle means a lot.

The scared part of me now is thinking "Maybe this is why you miscarried. Maybe this is why you can't do the FET this cycle. Maybe it's because you will need urgent brain surgery."

See? Eternal optimist...

Monday, September 13, 2010

Uniforms, tattoos and weddings (totally unrelated topics)

I am having a dyslexic day. And it is annoying me.

This entry may be somewhat disjointed, also, but it's unavoidable as it is just how I feel right now.


I need to buy Rocket a new school shirt. The uniform shop was closed this morning (this also annoyed me). School photos are tomorrow morning. Looks like I will be lining up with the 300 other slack parents who wait until school photo day to buy their kids a uniform shirt that isn't spattered with paint/has holes cut in it from scissor experiments in first grade. Is it wrong that he is still wearing the shirts I bought him in reception (that's nearly four years ago!) I mean, they were big on him back then and a little small on him now...and have been spattered with paint for a good three of those nearly-four years...but that's ok, right?


I went to see my tattoo artist on Thursday. I made an appointment right before I got pregnant with Walnut and had to cancel (obviously) and didn't contact her again for nearly two months. She was concerned, hoped everything was ok* (no! it's all shit!) I said I was fine. I'm always fine.

That morning, I went to grab Star's sheets of hand and footprints (as she is tattooing his foot on me) and they weren't where they should have been.
I didn't panic, I just went to look in the other memory box. Not there either.
Here I began to frown.
Are they in his babybook? No.
Are they in the filing cabinet? No.
I call Lou "Have you seen them?" No.

I was running late by this point so I left without them. How could I have lost the only copies? More to the point, how could I be so stupid not to make more copies in case this exact thing ever happened! I had two and a half years!

On the upside, Lou discovered that we did have another set of hand and footprints. Not as clear with detail but a better outline, done by the hospital, given to us at the appointment for his autopsy results. I've never really looked much in that envelope. So all is not lost, and I will take in both the print, and his casts so that she can get the detail just right. My first appointment is next week for 2 of the 3 new tattoos I now have lined up for the next few weeks :)


I am starting to get anxious about all this wedding planning business. I have to say, just one more thing that the whole IVF rollercoaster/shitstorm has impacted is the plans for our wedding. See I refuse to get married while pregnant**. So we decided to plan for it to happen in early 2011, as I was "supposed" to get pregnant last December (I would be due this week. *sigh* That would mean I would have a nearly 1 month old baby at home *sigh*). That would have given me 5 months to at least try to get my figure back (ha!) in time to look glamorous for the big day.

Then I got pregnant in April. There was no way that we could get married early next year if I was going to be giving birth in late December.
Then that baby died.
Then I got pregnant in July.
Then that baby died too.

Now I am considering a natural FET my next cycle. If that works, I'd be due in late June. That means we couldn't get married until the end of next year. I wish I had known. I wish I had known that come January, I would have been able to get married. I wish I had followed through with my plans. I wish we weren't doing IVF so I could plan this thing without having to take this all into consideration.

I do feel like I am on a rapidly escalating timeline with this wedding. I'm not going to explain why as it will seem petty and insane to most of you, but it's very real to us! It bothers me that we won't be able to even think of getting married for over another year. And what if this FET goes the same old way? What if, come next year, we are still trying to get a baby that lives? It's just all too much. I feel like time is running away from me....

*I should note that she is an old friend of mine - we've been friends for over ten years so it's not odd for her to worry about me!
** this is not negotiable. I'd love to just say "Ah to hell with it, if I'm pregnant at the wedding that'd be fine" but it's really not ;)

Friday, September 10, 2010

The Aftermath - part three

For part one of Starbaby's lifestory click here

This has taken awhile to publish, and there is so much I have left out. I often wish I could go back to those first few weeks. I was allowed to be a complete mess and think of nothing outside of myself and my grief. It was horrific and glorious at the same time, and I felt the closest to him that I ever have.

The week after leaving the hospital was a blur. We slept and lived curled up together on a single mattress on our living room floor. Aside from going to the funeral home to make arrangements, we didn’t leave the house. We watched a lot of trashy tv. If something was funny, I laughed. When I was sad, I cried. The nights were the worst. I would howl and cry for hours until I passed out. I started blogging again the day I got home from the hospital and I spent many, many hours devouring other DBM stories and blogs.

He was buried on a very hot day. The night before we went and had Laurie do matching tattoos of his name on our feet. I was excited to see him again the day of the burial. I couldn’t wait to hold him again. But when I saw him, I knew I couldn’t. He had been gone too long and he was too fragile. He was smaller than I remembered. We buried him silently with his music playing. I thought I would say something, but I couldn’t find the words. We only had our immediate family there. Once again, I found myself oddly calm and in control of myself. I barely cried.

We held his memorial a few weeks later. I didn’t think many people would come. But it was standing room only. We had a little party for him, and handed out his birth announcements. I made a speech. I can barely read it even now. There were many tears shed that day.

We “celebrated” every month for nearly a year. My blog and my friends on forums kept me going. I had no idea that stillbirth were so common.

We received the autopsy reports six weeks later. All my fears, all my late night terrors were laid to rest that day. I was overwhelmed by the thought that there may have been something we could do to save him. But the results were what I had always expected, and what I had found myself hoping for. Our baby boy had full trisomy 18 with a double aneuploidy. He never would have survived. I felt immense relief knowing that his fate was decided at his very conception. There was never anything we could do to change the outcome. The only thing I wish I could change is that I wish I had known some things that I know now. I wish I had known I could call a photographer in to get lovely photos of him. We have so few, and they are not great. I wish I had thought to bring in his blanket, his things into the hospital.

My greatest regret is not something that I ever could have changed though. I wish that we had known. At the time, we were so relieved that we didn’t know that there was something wrong. But now I wish we had known. I wish we could have induced while he was alive. I wish I could have seen his little eyes open. I wish my family and friends could have met him, even once. That’s the only thing I really wish I could change.

Losing my boy is quite obviously the most traumatic thing that I have endured. But it is not a horrible thing to me. Do not feel sorry for me that it happened. He is still my child and this is his story. It is who he is and I wouldn’t change it.

Little one, little one
Where have you gone?
Your going has darkened
The brightest dawn
Why did you leave us
So soon, so soon?
Where can we look for you?
Over the moon?
On butterflies' wings
In the heart of a rose?
Who knows,
who knows
Where a little one goes?
Where I have gone,
I am not so small
My soul is as wide
As the world is tall.
Wherever you look,
You will find me there~
In the heart of a rose,
In the heart of a prayer.
On butterflies' wings,
On wings of my own,
To you, I'm gone,
But I'm never alone~
I'm over the moon.
I am home.

Friday, September 3, 2010

How do they do it?

Today my eldest has a pupil free day.
I should be taking this opportunity to get a LOT done, as he keeps the little tacker completely occupied. Instead I have spent the entire morning in bed, reading blogs and being generally lazy.

I have in my reader some amazing blogs of amazing mothers who seem to get everything achieved every day. They write about the 10 loads of laundry they did, the four course meal they whipped up with organic produce and truffle oil, their amazing outings with their kids, and the 400 craft projects they did while their perfect children coloured next to them.

They simultaneously inspire me to be better, make me jealous as all get out, and cause me to throw my hands in the air and exclaim "who does that?"

Let me give you a little insight into how my day generally goes:
6am - Rocket and Lou get up, have breakfast.
7am - Lou goes to work
7:30am - My alarm goes off. I snooze it.
7:45am - My alarm goes off. I snooze it.
8am - I start thinking "dammit I should really get up now". My alarm goes off. I snooze it.
8:15am - I roll out of bed and get dressed.
8:20am - I wake Manny up (he is so not a morning person...takes after me!) and get him dressed. Ok so in honesty sometimes on work days he goes to daycare in his jammies.
8:30am - I am yelling at Rocket that it's time to go get in the car we have to leave NOW!
8:45am - drop the big kid at school.

This is where it varies:

Work days - drive the 45 minutes to work, drop off Manny and proceed to be bored to tears for roughly 8 hours. Then pick up the Manny, drive home, collapse on the couch under a blanket and observe while Manny runs around shrieking and Rocket rolls around on the floor or wrestles the baby.

Home days - after dropping Rocket at school there is generally a mess of doctors appointments, dentist appointments, meetings with tradesmen and errands to be run. Little man is dragged from one point to another. When we get home he is exhausted and has a good long nap. I take this opportunity to try and get the house into some semblance of order - a task I never seem to complete.
Before I know it it's 2:30pm and I have to go and get Rocket from school. His best friend tends to come over a lot, and when he is here I get nothing done. My time is occupied by trying to keep Manny away from the big kids who, while they think he is cute, do not appreciate the way he manages to simultaneously get in their way and destroy whatever it is they are doing.
BFF goes home at about 5:30, (or on the days where Rocket is at his house, I go pick him up about 5:30, get caught up in conversation and don't leave till after 6)
Lou gets home at about 5:30ish and we have about 3 minutes to chat before it is time for dinner/baths/showers/bedtime routine/the adults collapsing in front of the heater watching tv/bed.

I just can't see at what point I could ever get anything else done? Perhaps I just need to try harder.

And perhaps on these days off I should be prepared with fun things to do and oh, yes, not lie in bed until 10:30! Ok time to get up now...

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

His little face - part two

Meet my tiny baby boy, destined to be a Star xxx

click here for part one of his lifestory
click here for part three of his lifestory

His Story - part one

On the evening of the 25th February 2008 I was almost 37 weeks pregnant. I was desperate for my baby to be born as I was feeling huge, it was the middle of summer and I just wanted him out. My first was born at 37 weeks and was a big baby (8lb 9oz). I just knew this one wasn’t as big, but I had hoped that I could somehow be induced early, the way I was with Rocket. I tried to convince the Dr at my last visit to at least re-scan me to see if he was big, like his brother, but in the back of my mind I kept flashing to the 18 and 20 wk ultrasounds where he measured small, really small. At the time I was desperately worried but all the doctors kept telling me it was nothing. I panicked over the fact that he had a choroid plexus cyst (CPC) a marker for Trisomy 18, but all the doctors reassured me, “your baby is fine!

That day at the appointment, the doctor listened to his heartbeat and said “your baby is PERFECTLY healthy, and HAPPY in there” and told me no induction, no ultrasound. Basically told me that I was an idiot. I was still worried. I had hoped using the reason of “I was induced with a big baby before” would prompt at least an ultrasound to reassure me that the baby was ok. I had a bad feeling. It was only a few days until my fears were confirmed in the most horrific way.

But back to the evening of 25th February.

I went to bed late (not unusual for me, especially when pregnant). I suddenly realised I hadn’t felt him move that day. I tried to think of when the last time I felt him move was. I couldn’t for the life of me remember him moving in days. This wasn’t that unusual, as I had an anterior placenta and was told that I wouldn’t feel his movements the way I did with my first baby. Now I know the real reason.

I lay in bed for an hour poking, prodding, begging him to move. I could push him from one side of my belly to the other. I could feel his weight shift easily without a single movement. I felt sick. But I decided not to go into the hospital again, as I would have to take the whole family in there in the middle of the night, and I had already done that once this pregnancy, and spent the whole night in there for no reason. As soon as they put the trace on there he bounced around madly. So I stayed in bed, convinced myself he was ok, even though I really knew he wasn’t.

Somehow I slept.

In the morning I headed into the hospital. I didn’t tell Lou any of my concerns as she was up at 5am for work and I was still asleep. I dropped Rocket at school and drove into the hospital for what I thought would be a quick check.

They took me back straight away.

What happened next was the stuff of nightmares. The midwife tried and tried to find a heartbeat with the Doppler. She got a senior midwife to try. I watched the clock on the wall as minutes passed without them finding a heartbeat. I tried to be calm but I started to panic.

2 minutes in and I was scared. 5 minutes in and I know my own heart rate went up. 10 minutes passed and I knew something was drastically wrong. They called a doctor down to perform an ultrasound.

He started scanning and was talking as he did it. “There is your baby’s head. There is a lot of amniotic fluid here” I was thinking “Oh thank goodness he must be ok. Why else would he be talking about these other things?”

Then the words that will always haunt me. He looked me in the eyes and said “I’m sorry, it does appear your baby’s heart has stopped”.

I panic just writing out those words. At the time, I think my heart stopped too. I screamed, I hyperventilated, I lost complete focus on reality. The nurses were telling me to listen to the doctor…LISTEN TO THE DOCTOR. I could see no point in listening to the doctor, my baby was dead. My baby was DEAD.

I jumped out of the bed and screamed “I have to call my partner, I have to call my LOU”. Of course my phone had no reception. They led me out to a phone in the reception area and I called her sobbing. All I could say was “they can’t find a heartbeat”. She could barely understand me. I now know she ran out to her boss in a panic and he drove her to the hospital himself, the only sounds in the car both of them swearing every time they hit a red light or a car in front went too slow. When she went back to work, every time the phone rang in the factory for months she would almost hyperventilate with fear of another terrible call from me.

By the time she got there I had already been upstairs for a full ultrasound, which I kept my arm over my face for. I did not want to see him there on the screen, lying still, not moving. It was all too much for me to bear.

I don’t remember getting back to the assessment rooms but somehow we did. We sat there in shock. I started apologising over and over and saying “how does this happen? How does this happen? I don’t understand…How does a heart just stop?”

I started crying for the first time. I wailed and sobbed while she held me and cried her quiet tears.

The doctor came back in and told us that he was very small. He guessed about 4.5lb but he was far smaller at only 3lb 7oz. There were a full range of problems showing including pleural effusions, malformed kidneys etc. There was a whole discussion on “why didn’t we see this coming”. We agreed to an autopsy. I wanted a c-section. No way did I want to go through labour and birth for a baby who was already gone. The doctor firmly told me no, that would just make things harder. I thought he was mental but I agreed to the induction. We had to choose whether to be admitted right away, or come back later to be induced. I chose to go home and have a few hours, then come back that night.

We walked out in shock. It was my mother’s birthday. I was supposed to meet her in an hour for lunch. Making that call was hard, but I steeled my emotions and called to say the baby had died and I wouldn’t make it to her lunch. We had a very strained relationship at that point because she reacted very badly to news of the pregnancy and had shown no interest in him. I think this still haunts her.

We lay around for a while in shock. Crying, asking why. We decided it was for the best that we didn’t know about all his problems sooner. We never had to make any tough decisions and he passed away (we hope) peacefully, in the warmest, safest place possible. He was never alone for a second. We were strangely calm and rational in between the fits of sobbing.


Arriving at the hospital was surreal. Everyone else there was getting ready to meet their baby and start their lives together. We wanted to scream at every person that passed us “Our baby died! Our baby DIED” but we sat there quietly and waited to be called up. They put us in a special room at the end of the labour ward, as far as possible from the happy families. Our lovely midwife came in and apologised in advance if we had to hear any new babies cry.

Everything that night sort of blurs together now. There are a lot of random details I remember that aren’t that pertinent now. I remember one of the doctors coming in to talk about doing an amnio (they decided not to, to wait for the autopsy). I remember he was so emotional, his voice broke and he had tears in his eyes. We were stoic and unemotional whenever someone was in the room, sobbing hysterically when we were alone.

The IV saga started (as it always does) with two nurses, an anaesthetist and then the head of anaesthetics “having a go” at it.

Our midwife brought us some literature about stillbirth. I tried to read some but quickly became hysterical. I put them aside. I never really cried when our midwife was in the room, she kept saying we were so brave. I didn’t see it as brave, we knew we had to get through it, and becoming a mess wouldn’t help anything. I became a master at controlling my emotions (ha! As if)

I barely slept. Lou never has any trouble sleeping. In the morning we stared out the window. What else was there to do? We saw two friends running in the park across the road. Lou commented that our friends are always close by, even when they don’t realise it.

I had a patient controlled anaesthesia where I could self administer painkillers every few minutes. I had contractions every three minutes but they were easily bearable. At around 2pm they started increasing in intensity. I asked for more painkillers, then changed my mind and asked for an epidural.

From there it all went like lightning. I was in so much pain that I was begging for relief, but there was no time for anything. They were yelling for an anaesthetist to at least give me a shot of something. Finally he did, and less than a minute later my tiny boy was born. My established labour was a grand total of eleven minutes. And yes I am proud that this is recorded in my patient notes.

I was so afraid after he was born, of what he would look like. They had prepared us for the worst, and I asked anxiously “Does he look okay?” Our dear midwife Olivia said happily “oh he’s perfect”. And he was.

I got to see him and hold him straight away and he took my breath away. I couldn’t understand how he could be dead, as he just looked so…alive. He just looked like he was sleeping. He didn't have a single mark on him, they think he must have only just passed away when I came in. I believe it was around 2am the night before, when I first was struck with the though "what if he has died?" Olivia wrapped him up and took him to bathe him and weigh him while Lou watched. He was a grand 3lb 7 oz at 37 weeks.

We loved holding him. Olivia commented “You two are like different people when this little boy is in the room” and it was true. He lit up our lives that day. We had him the whole day, I don’t really remember what we did, or what we said. We just WERE. We talked and laughed and everything was ok right in that moment because he was there with us. Olivia took him overnight. In the morning I asked for him back. She had washed his blanket and his gown overnight and he smelled lovely.

We had him baptised and blessed by the Catholic Father in the hospital. He asked all the angels to watch over him and his mothers. We left late that day, going home to our empty house alone, and empty handed.

For Part Two click here.
For Part Three click here.


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