After Anabelle

This year I have discovered that the fear of pregnancy extends way beyond myself. 

It wasn't enough to be fearful for my own baby, my own pregnancy. No, clearly I'm fearful for everyone else's too. Currently two good friends are pregnant and there isn't a day that goes by when I haven't thought about them, wondering how they are.  Wanting to be involved but wanting to avoid it all at the same time. I'm anxious for them to get to the end, anxious for nothing to go wrong, just anxious for their babies to born safe and screaming.  

Over the coming months, years, I know there will be many more pregnancies. We're at 'that age'. I hate that naivety and innocence of pregnancy has been taken away from me. Instead of being able to fully join in the excitement for a family or friends pregnancy, there at the back of my mind is the anxious sick feeling.  The fear. 

The fear of the pregnancy and then the fear of the baby when it gets here.

I still haven't held another newborn that wasn't my own. I'm still not ready. I simply cannot face it yet. I dread being asked if I 'would like a hold?' I'm not entirely sure why, I know it isn't rational. I thought after Xander  this fear would be erased, but apparently not.  I know this is something I will have to make myself move past soon.  And I will, one day. On my time, on my plan. And it will need a plan, a get out clause, an understanding audience that babies are a very mixed up emotion for me. 

I'm sure my friends will not mind me saying how nervous I am of meeting their newborns. A hurdle I have to get over twice before long, because I do want to meet their babies. Two and almost a half years on from our precious girl and I still cannot cope tremendously well with other peoples newborns. Silly? Maybe. Real? Yes.  Baby girls especially. I only hope people understand, understand that I'm not bitter or twisted. Understand that my world is still broken, that it has been no time at all in the grand scheme of my life.  

For me, for us; pregnancy and tiny babies are forever changed. Please be patient, gentle and understanding with our family. 

"An extremely difficult time."   

That is how a family's nightmare is described after their baby has died.  Extremely difficult? It doesn't even come close. Doesn't do the hurt, despair, brokenness any justice. Our lives have become irreparable and to the outsider it is simply an extremely difficult time.  When does it stop being an extremely difficult time? Never. 

Things change, differing periods of crushing hurt. But the extremely difficult times, when they come, are forever. 

Last week in Gwent, another family's experience was described as an extremely difficult time. A baby died during birth because there was a two hour wait for an ambulance. An ambulance that was needed to transfer the mother and baby from the midwife led unit (MLU) to a hospital that had Doctors and facilities available to cater for emergency birth situations. 

A hospital that regardless of ambulance wait was already a 30 minute or more journey from the MLU. 

MLU's scare me. In an ideal world we would all have terrific, romantic, empowering births. But we don't live in an ideal world. Our world is scary. I know most pregnancies and births are trouble free, I know most births do not need intervention and I'm fully aware that my experience of pregnancy and birth has left me skewed.

But, when a situation arises that a midwife is no longer equipped or qualified to deal with, and they often do; I personally feel Doctors should be there somewhere. Should be available on site. I'm hugely aware even with Doctors, things can still go wrong. But if an emergency is identified; a Doctor, a theatre should be there already. Babies lives are too precious. Not 30 minutes or more away. 30 precious or more wasted minutes away. Nevermind the additional ambulance wait in this case. 

I know many won't agree with me. I know there is a whole movement to de-medicalise pregnancy and birth. On one hand I understand the reasoning behind it; giving the power back to the mother, power back to nature for the low-risk birth. 

Low-risk, not NO-risk. 

But then again, I hear you say my appreciation of risk value is skewed too. My 1 in 200 chance of my baby not coming home was a low-risk. Or at least it sounds fairly low until you are that one. It isn't great odds really is it. 

How do you really identify who will have a low-risk birth? How on earth does anyone really know how it will go until they are in the throws of labour? Even with the best will in the world, the most comprehensive birth plans, antenatal classes designed for stress-free births and whatnot, childbirth in reality is a risky individual unknown entity. 

So on the other hand I don't understand it at all; the rate of infant and maternal death during chlidbirth can only have gone down in recent decades because of the skills of our Doctors, the facilities that are available to us. Why would you not want to take advantage of that?   

Maybe it is because as a nation we have become blasé about the risks of childbirth. We don't expect babies (or mothers) to die, so we forget that they can and actually do.  

Although a significant factor, I would argue that baby died not only because of the ambulance wait. That baby died because a Doctor and emergency facilities were not available as soon as an emergency was identified. Even if there has been an ambulance straight away; there still would've been a long blue light journey to get to a Doctor for that baby. Maybe if the MLU had Doctor-led facilities across a corridor, instead of in a different hospital, that baby would've survived.

What an unnecessary death. Another broken family. 

The other night, browsing Not On The High Street, I came across this.   An angel babygrow, with little wings on the back; "I'm a baby angel" printed on the front. 

Awww. Adorable. Cute; you may say. 

But not to me. It made my stomach lurch as soon as I saw it. Made me audibly say 'Ugh', made me panic a little on the inside, my heart pound a little harder. Made me want to cry. 

While some parents get to play on the 'Awww. Adorable. Cute'  factor of dressing their children up like angels, the representation of a baby dressed as an angel is all a bit much for me, because the representation is our reality. 

Once upon a time I might've been in the 'Awww. Adorable. Cute.' camp. Not now. Not when my daughter is actually a baby angel. 

I hate it when people refer to their living babies as their 'little angel'. I hate it when people label Xander an 'angel' or call him 'angel'. He clearly isn't. It makes me very uncomfortable when the representation of a baby angel is his sister. His dead sister. 

We called her our Angel Belle while she was still alive. Thinking it was cute. Our pet name for her. She died. It came true. Maybe our sub-conscience always knew. 

The babygrow made me feel sick. Maybe it feels like parents, dressing their little babies as little angels are unwittingly playing with fire.  Maybe like we were. We got burned. 

My baby girl, my baby angel. 

Experiencing the death of your child alters everything; it fundamentally changes who you are. Sometimes I still don't quite know who I am any more. Who am I? I don't recognise me, and the bits I do recognise I don't always like. 

This is going to be a hard post to write. 

Sunday morning, 21st October 2012, my maternal grandfather died. 

He was 89 years old, had myleloma (a type of cancer of the blood), a huge aneurysm in his stomach and dementia. Over the last four years since being diagnosed with the myleloma he had had multiple infections and illnesses, and long hospital stays because of his impaired immune system. It wasn't the cancer or a burst aneurysm that killed him, that was threatening to kill him for so long, but a chest infection. He died at around 10.00am Sunday morning after surviving Doctors predictions and expectations time and again over the last four years. I wonder if he knew it was happening?

I am ashamed to say that although I am sad, especially for my Mum who has lost her remaining parent (my Nana, her mother, died twenty five years ago), I'm not feeling distraught. I'm sad, that is all. Shouldn't it be more? This is very different to how I felt when my paternal grandfather, Grandad, died very suddenly five years ago. 

Life was different then, I was different then. I knew little of death then. I know too much now. 

I'm ashamed that I hadn't seen Grancha for months, I should have gone more often. Although I am pleased that he had at least met Alexander. I know that hospital visit had been a boost for him and he'd enjoyed meeting his great-grandson.

I'm ashamed that I struggled with Grancha's illness since Anabelle died. I've struggled with what he has represented to me. Not him personally; but a world where sick old people stay alive while my baby daughter died. That isn't the way it is supposed to be. I struggle to accept our reality. And there is that bit of me I don't like; the hurting, horrible girl who resents other people. 

Another family death, planning another funeral, is making me relive that week of our lives. That week from Anabelle's birth until we said goodbye. Sitting there in my parents living room, talking with another funeral director, talking of coffins and flowers and services has brought it all back as if its happening again to me now. 

Isn't that incredibly selfish? Instead of being distraught for my grandfather I am grieving my baby girl and the injustice of it all. 

Today I've cried for Anabelle.   Cried for the life we don't have and the regrets that remain. I cried because I so desperately want to kiss her one more time and wish I had turned around one more time in the funeral home and held her in my arms. I cried because my arms ache for her, my baby girl. I cried because I didn't put socks on her to keep her feet warm. I cried because I didn't take a photo of her coffin and the inscription of her name on it. I cried because she was placed in that deep dark ground before I'd touched her coffin one last time. All the things I can't do or undo. I cried because she was taken away from me, from us, far too soon. 

I cried because my Grancha's death is impacting on me in all the wrong ways. 

Alexander's birthday; perfect. 

It really was. Exactly what we had wanted for him. A weekend full of treats, fun and laughter surrounded by all our closest family and friends. A very different kind of first birthday but in many ways the same as his sisters; the very best we could do for Anabelle and the very best we could do for him.

Now at a one year, one week and one day old I'm finally getting around to doing his birthday and 12 month post!

Presents

One of my favourite presents!

Doodle and Crumb

Me, Mummy and Daddy

My own Nara

Waybuloo Cake

Blowing out my candle

 Alexander's growth has slowed down a lot, infact he has lost weight over the last month; 7oz! So at a year old Alexander weighs 22lb 7oz after being born at 8lb 13oz, an entire weight gain this year of 14lb 10oz! He is still firmly in his 9-12 month clothes currently.   The health visitor wasn't at all concerned about the 7oz loss and put the loss down to the busy little boy he has become. Now Alexander can crawl he is constantly on the go. I really don't think he sits still for more than a minute at a time and even then his arms are busy doing something! Not to mention the speed at which he can cruise around the furniture now; he spends all day getting up and down!

At a year old, Alexander still only has 3 teeth. The third popping through just days before his birthday. The 4th and possibly 5th are very close on the horizon if his gums are anything to go by though.

His play skills are becoming more refined all the time. Xander is becoming very quick to catch onto the concepts of a toy now. For example, he was given a car garage toy for his birthday, with a lift to pull up and push down, he was only shown once and he's remembered what he has to try and do, although it stiff for him  to do on his own at the moment. He also had a hammer the shapes through the holes thing and it is very entertaining to watch him tap and hammer the shape after being shown what to do. Xander is starting to play 'properly', exploring, learning.

I tell you what though, I dread to think what his 'terrible two's' tantrums will be like if the strops he has now are anything to go by! Yes, already we have the proper arching back strops while telling me off very loudly. This usually involves going in the pram or car seat when he does not want to, food being finished or what he hates even more; getting dressed. Xander has decided he absolutely hates getting dressed and a strop is almost guaranteed! I'm sure he would happily never get changed or indeed just stay naked if I would let him!

He has such a gorgeous little personality now, even with the twice daily strops getting dressed! hehe! He is endearing, happy, mischievous, cheeky, loving, funny and playful, and so much more!  

I think our boy is so busy learning new things he has forgotten how to sleep. Full nights sleep this last months have become very few and far between! My good little sleeper that emerged so early on had lulled us into a false sense of security! Now we seem to be regularly up with him two or even three times a night.  I believe there is a degree of separation anxiety responsible for this, along with the usual teeth troubles and just being such a busy learner.   Alexander has had a lot of change over the last month; he has had to get used to a new routine, one that involves not seeing me for a great length of time for three days a week, he has had to get used to new people starting nursery, he has learnt how to crawl properly and cruise properly, now he is learning how to balance ready to walk. It is no wonder he is feeling a little unsettled and looking for reassurance through the night!   It does make for one very tired Mummy and Daddy though.

He is just wonderful. Could I beam anymore?! This little boy who turned our world upside down yet a bit back together again. This little boy who has allowed us to heal a little bit, smothered in all the love I have for him and his sister, yet still feeling I could burst!  Absolutely the meaning of rainbow; filling our world with colour through the storm, biblically a promise. Our promise of new brightness in our world. Our rainbow.

Me and Mummy

I am ONE!

I realise I never finished the A-Z blog challenge in April, but thought now was as good as time as any to have a go at finishing it!

So this time last year I was about to turn 36 week pregnant with Xander, I was a few days away from being admitted to hospital to be induced. All I could think about was getting him out alive; it felt so close yet still so far.  I remember manically monitoring his every movement sick with worry that on this final stretch he would be taken away from me.  

And now, next Sunday, Alexander will turn one!  This year has passed in a blink of an eye and this is what a first birthday build up should be all about, reminiscing for the right reasons, overwhelmed for the right reasons. I keep staring at my boy is awe, my beautiful very nearly one year old boy! 

It is amazing, I cannot remember what out lives were like before we were parents; angel parents or here on earth parents. My children have become all I know. 

I have a dream, a song to sing,

to help me cope with anything.

If you see the wonder, of a fairy tale,

you can take the future even if you fail.

I believe in angels,

something good in everything I see,

I believe in angels, 

when I know the time is right for me,

I'll cross the stream - I have a dream. 

I have a dream, a fantasy,

To help me through, reality.

And my destination, makes it worth the while,

pushing through the darkness, still another mile.

I believe in angels,

something good in everything I see,

I believe in angels, 

when I know the time is right for me, 

I'll cross the stream - I have a dream. 

Abba