I deliberately didn't do a post on here announcing that i was pregnant as I didn't want to 'tempt fate'. I have now decided that fate is a load of old bollocks anyway (excuse the language) because this week we had a scan that told us at 16 weeks our baby no longer had a heart beat.
I know this is going to make uncomfortable reading, and I could write a list of people who will read this and think 'Christ, what is she doing?' but when I'm lying awake at night staring at the bedroom ceiling and trying not to cry, all I can think of is that it may help to write it down. It may also stop you all from wondering why I haven't done a post on the blog for so long.
People have been so kind. We have had a week of cards being delivered that we couldn't open. Within a few hours of knowing our news we had a bouquet of flowers delivered from my boss...the same boss who last week told me would be making me redundant at the end of June.
We have had a fabulous box of homemade chocolate chip cookies sent from London. We have had emails from 2 friends in particular (one of whom I have never met, you know who you are, coaster girl!) who just want to say Hi, and then continue to tell us about their lives as they would normally. That has helped hugely.
When I start laughing at something on the television or something someone says I feel guilty. I feel guilty when someone starts to tell me about their friend/ relative who went through the same thing and then went on to have hundreds of children. I feel guilty because I don't want to know about them. They are happy, I am not.
I have a fabulous husband who has been amazingly supportive and despite feeling grief of his own has looked after me, hugged me and held me. He knows all the right things to say and when to say them.
I still can't understand how this could happen so late in the pregnancy. I know we're just unlucky but just as I was starting to think everything would be ok, the rug was pulled from under us. We got to the 12 week stage where we breathed a sigh of relief. We started to think of names, look at prams and cots. I was looking forward to our first Christmas as a Mummy and Daddy.
And now. And now I have to start caring about myself and brushing my hair. I have to stop counting how many sleeps are left until I have to go back to work and cope with the pitying looks and hand squeezing.
Apparently there are several stages of grief to get through. I am still at the devastated and upset stage.
It will get better in time. Apparently.