Category: Spawn

There’s so much more to it than I ever thought possible.

The shrink

I saw the counsellor from Sids & Kids yesterday. Apparently, an important part of this whole “grief” thing, is actually crying. Who’d a thunk it.

I’ve been working hard at keeping it all together, and worrying more about how other people feel (and protecting them from the horror of my grief), so the tears get quashed, I put on a brave face, and get on with life.

So, my new years resolution (which I don’t believe in, and I am nonetheless doing, and doing early this year), is to fall apart a little bit. If I feel sad, I will cry, and I will try not to worry about protecting other people (except Inigo of course). I spent years training myself not to cry, to protect myself from bullies, so allowing myself to cry is a steep learning curve.

We’re going up to Pearl Beach after Christmas until after New Years, and I am going to take that time for me, for healing, and for saying “get stuffed” to feelings of obligation and concern for others.

If you’re a friend, please don’t ask me how I am. The answer will be “shithouse”. If you’re not a friend, I will lie, and tell you that I am looking forward to Christmas, that I had a good day, that things are fine, that I am getting “better”. But what is “better”? A slight improvement? Or is it just a word to make you feel better about my disaster of a life?

If I don’t know you, if you ask me how many children I have, I’ll say, “one, he’s three”. But if you’re a friend, or if I want to be real with you, I’ll say, “Three, but only one living. I lost twin babies this year”. It’s horrible saying it out loud, but it’s even worse denying their existence.

Today in dot points

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• Got a lie in for the first time in a few days. I’ve been doing the morning shift with Inigo since Monday, feeling very proud of myself. We had diner with mum and dad last night, and Inigo had a meltdown a the thought of coming home with mama instead of having a sleepover with Nanna. I wish I had that meltdown on video!

• Had my first solo bath in about 6 months. Having a bath was on the forbidden activities list for women with ruptured membranes, and since I’ve been out of hospital, Inigo has wanted to be with mama as much as possible, and that means solo bathing is a real luxury.

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• Had my 6 week check up today. Found out a few things..
° I was very lucky that I didn’t end up in intensive care. My doctors were really worried about me, and very relieved when I started to improve.
° Although I have improved a lot since leaving hospital, it is going to take a while until I am back to normal. Roshni said she would have “liked” to have seen me better than I am by now, I shouldn’t expect too much.
° I can start some gentle exercise now. No weight training yet, but aqua aerobics would be ok.
° International travel mid next year would be OK. Previously I was told not to travel, “just in case”.
° And if we decide to allow hope to triumph over experience, and make another attempt to add to our family, the ideal time to wait after a c/s is 18 months. Being over 40 may change that recommendation.
° Usually, premature rupture in one pregnancy means an increased risk for future pregnancies. But because I was pregnant with twins, Roshni thinks that was the cause of the rupture, and a future single pregnancy would “probably” be ok. Sheesh.

• After all this excitement, we go to the post office in Merrylands to pick up a few parcels, where I forgot my credit card.

• Lunch at the Taj. Inigo coped very well with no nap, and no mango lassi (they forgot to bring it). Home to tackle some housework, for the first time in a long, long time.

Tomorrow, I am going to be completely wrecked…

(First image, Inigo and Nanna last night, second image, a four leaf clover I found on the day of Inigo’s birthday party)

Nothing to report

Just sticking up a post so that people don’t think I have completely succumbed to alcoholism and despair.

I am going to post a copy of the funeral ceremony soon, but I thought I would wait until I had some photos to post at the same time – but I am in no hurry. I can’t yet look at the memorial cards – and if you wanted to be there and couldn’t be, let me know and I will send you a copy of the order of service and a comment card. So your thoughts for us can be included in our memorial.

So yes, things are bleak. And I don’t have energy, emotional of physical for anything other than getting through each day.

But I’m a BOY!

Yesterday, Inigo chose his outfit (as he is wont to do), and it was a stunner. His tie dyed hippy rainbow shirt (which says “my dad reads to me”), and purple fleece pants with a butterfly on the hip. His hair was looking spectacularly curly, and I had a hair clip (black though!) to keep it out of his eyes.

In Medicare, the woman at the counter complimented my beautiful daughter on her lovely manners (he likes to hand over the medicare card), and I decided to let it slide. I mean, in that outfit, who would guess he was a boy? Often I do correct people, but they get very embarrassed, and I really didn’t have much extra emotional energy yesterday.

But Inigo did. “But I’m a boy”, he piped up with.

Classic. You could have cut the air with a knife. And I look like the strangest mother in the world.

“He likes to choose his own clothes”, I squeaked. It was the best I could do in the circumstances.