If you know me in real life and have found this blog, please honour my wishes and don't read on. I need this place to freely write my feelings to help me to heal and if you're reading, I'll censor myself. I have no way of knowing who is reading so all I can do is trust you to honour my wishes. Thank you.

(this doesn't apply to any of my fellow mums of angels I've been lucky enough to meet in real life)

Monday, March 29, 2010

5 Months

5 months ago today Matilda stopped moving inside me. Those feet up on my right side that I loved feeling stopped kicking. She was delivered that night and it turns out my placenta was failing rapidly. I try not to think about how I would feel if she hadn't been delivered alive even though her short life was spent in the NICU and filled with tubes and machines. I can only hope she felt the love around her.

As time goes on, it seems more and more that this is the way it was always going to be and less like I should have a living baby. Like I've always been in this place, this parrallel universe where I'm this quiet person who'd much rather stay home than spend time in a crowd. That's patting herself on the back because yesterday she managed to go to the shopping centre for the first time since shortly after Matilda's death. This person that when a Mum with a pram goes past, swivels her head to see if the baby is a girl and how old it is.

For the most part, I'd say I'm doing better. But I have a pretty low bar for what better is these days. It's a day where I get something done (making my bed and cooking dinner qualifies as 'something') and then read a book quietly for the rest of the day. The other day, I saw a movie and there's a scene where she's driving along in the car singing loudly to whatever is on the radio, looking happy and I thought 'I can't imagine being that person again'. I can only hope that one day I'll make it to that place where I feel really, truly happy again. It seems like a very distant spot on the horizon currently.

Matilda - after 5 months, all I know is that I love you and I wish it had been different. I wish you were here. Please watch over us tomorrow.


  1. I wish it were different too for you! So very much. And it's hard knowing what better is these days. I look at getting something done as an accomplishment too! Thinking of you today and sending many hugs. XO

  2. I know she felt your love, and still does. I also hope we find some happiness. Everyone says it happens eventually so I guess we will just have to have faith that one day we will feel better. I'm thinking of you today, take care.

  3. Having a "normal life" is different from what it was before. Without a doubt. I hope you do get to a place where you are truly happy again.

  4. I have just found your blog and wanted to say how sorry i am for the loss of your sweet Matilda. Xxx

  5. I know what you mean about getting used to things. So often I find myself thinking, "wait! this isn't how it's supposed to be! other parents go through pregnancy and have a baby to hold at the end" Those kind of thoughts make it hard to get through the day.

    My heart and thoughts are with you.

  6. My head is always swiveling with strollers that go by, or babywearing moms. How old are they? Is that the age Lyra would be now?

    5 months without your sweet one. I'm so sorry. Hoping beyond all hope that in your own time, you get to the point where you can sing loudly and be happy again...or however it best suits you. Sending you many (((hugs)))

  7. I always look carefully into passing strollers as well. Addison will always be days old in my mind; it's only the babycenter.com emails I still get that remind me what she should be doing now, had she lived. I can't bring myself to delete her due date from the website, for fear of deleting part of her. So I allow myself to be tortured by weekly reminders of what should be. I'm glad you're out and doing things. Every step forward is an important step.

  8. Rebecca - I deleted those emails. I can't remember when so I'm assuming it was in those early days when it was all I could do to keep breathing.

    My counsellor asked if I imagine what Matilda would've been doing and what she's look like but I really just see her the way she was - a little baby.

    Just after I posted this I fell back down the black hole of grief and no longer feel like doing things. And we're back to eating baked beans on toast but I guess I'm still eating so that's something. I hope this passes soon - my eyes are puffy from crying all the time again. It seems like as time goes on it's just a bigger kick in the guts that I'm never getting Matilda back. Sigh.

    Thanks for all the support - it really does make a difference.