Wednesday, 8 February 2012
22:31 | Posted by Caz | Edit Post
I've been struggling to articulate this post for a few days.
I'm afraid I'm becoming one of those permanently neurotic mother's. Rational trying to beat away irrational thoughts all of the time. Once again my boy has appeared dead in my dreams. Sunday night. He was floating face down in a swimming pool, drowned. Jon dived in to get to him but he was already dead. Limp and lifeless in the water.
I know the trigger; Monday morning is swimming day. We've really been enjoying swimming, Alexander loves the water, its been fun. Not once in my conscience thought has it entered my mind this activity could hurt him, kill him. My dreams had other ideas. I woke up short of breath and almost panicking, it seemed so real. Of course it wasn't real; how would an almost 4 month old baby ever be left unattended in the water for something so awful to happen. I would never do that, why did I dream that?
What is wrong with me? I'm like a woman obsessed.This has to stop surely? How long will these waves of all engulfing fear continue? Will I fear every scenario, statistic, risk to this extent for the rest of his life?
There are fine lines between normal Mummy fears to bereaved Mummy fears, to verging almost on needing to get a grip. I'm trying very hard not to be a cotton wool Mummy but I think I'm heading towards needing to get a grip.
Something beyond awful happened to us; our daughter died. I'm having another of those moments where I can't comprehend the enormity of it all. Anabelle's death is going to colour everything for the rest of our lives, how we react, how we think and how we parent. A massive rippling effect on how I now perceive risks compared with what the actual risk might be. Risks are always magnified now.
The risk of my daughter not coming home was 1 in 200. Small. I was considered a low risk pregnancy, I was only 25, I didn't fit into any of the high-risk of stillbirth catergories. But I was that 1. It always feels entirely plausible that I could be that 1 in a statistic again. The doom and gloom-est in me has an awful habit of jumping to and imagining the worst case scenario in everything; irrational often wins. Why can't I just believe my son is here to stay and that nothing awful is going to happen to us again?
My faith needs a boot up the backside.
I agree entirely with recent comments on my blog.. I need a risk management plan surrounding Alexander and other aspects in our lives; or maybe more precisely a fear management plan. I just don't even know where to start.
- I'm Caz, Mummy to beautiful angel Belle and little miracle Xander, Wife to Jon. Twitter @cazem @bellepixelle
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