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)

Saturday, March 31, 2012

New Normal and Some News

A term that floats around in baby loss circles is the 'new normal'. Life's never the same but eventually that 'new normal' becomes 'normal' in it's own way. Looking at my fridge I was struck by having Matilda's memorial card (with her picture that we gave people at her funeral) held up by an Australian Breastfeeding Association magnet and right next to the standard vaccinations magnet and a photo of me and Max held up by a 'Grief is a journey' magnet.

On my bedside table, I have a picture of Matilda, her urn, and a teddy bear a friend knitted for her while I was pregnant. Next to that is a stack of books I am reading (or trying to read) and on top of that stack is 'Turning Tears in Laughter' about toddler discipline.

And these things are normal to me now.
My news is that I'm 14 weeks pregnant and so far things look good and I'm much more hopeful of bringing this little one home than I ever was with Max at this stage. But I can't feel movements yet and while I know that's 'normal' it scares me. That naviety of pregnancy when you haven't suffered loss just never comes back.

But amongst these circles I know I'm incrediably lucky to be pregnant with my 2nd subsequent baby so soon and I'm ever so grateful for that. Some of my friends are having very rough times at the moment and my heart breaks for them.
Matilda - the other normal is that I love you, think about you everyday, and miss you. As I watch Max grow into a toddler I just wonder what you would have been like now and still can't believe we never got the priviledge of watching you grow and change and giggle and walk and wonder at the world. It still hurts.