Celebrating life

I have lost my writing mojo for now. I still need to write about Sophia's birthday party and post some pics of that but I just don't have the energy right now. Don't be worried, I am fine, promise. Just feeling very "surface"... I don't want to say superficial - it's not that. It's more that for right now I am simply living day to day.

A few pics from our newborn shoot a few weeks ago....

You, me and the deep blue sea

I'm sitting on the rocks, huge waves smashing and sea mist cooling my face and my feet. Do you remember the last time we did this? At the Wild Coast last April. Such a beautiful day - just me and you and a random friendly dog that decided to join us on our walk.

I loved that day. I sat there knowing that next time I sat on the rocks you'd be sitting right beside me. I so wish that were true.

Today my experience is tainted. The sea is the same, but these rocks are different. I can see awful insects & weird creatures scuttling in the shadows. They're hideous and quick and I feel unsafe and exposed.

But the sea! The sea is glorious! Majestic! Awesome! Powerful! Strong! Cool, fresh, aquamarine and fluffy, foamy, blinding white. The sea is beauty.

The creatures on the rocks creep closer. I want to leave, to escape them. But in leaving them I leave the sea and the sea is you and the rocks are me.

Instead

Another long day of labour and then finally there you were. Even after 2 days I felt unready. They handed you to me. You were beautiful and still and ours.

Today should be about balloons and cake, presents and your little-girl-giggles. About a dress with bows and streaks of icing on your face. About flings chips and little friends and countless photos and proud parents.
About you - in all your childish wonder and unbridled joy.

Instead it is quiet.

Happy birthday my precious girl. I wish we were celebrating it together.
Sophia, your mommy loves you with all her heart.

2 September

I woke up early - maybe 5:30. Not sure but it was dark still. I hopped to the bathroom, flipped the light and looked down. Bright red blood gushing out of me.

I called Stef and told him. "bright red is bad, the book said so."

He called our antenatal teacher. She told him to get me to the hospital.

Still firmly in denial I argued that I should eat first (???) but he was havibg none of it.

On the way there I put on an adrenaline pumping song - dance, dance by fall out boy. I was still weirdly chipper.

Went to the plett mediclinic through to the maternity ward. The sisters were too nice. They were stalling. I started to feel nervous. The midwife arrived. She was far too nice. Trying to find baby's heartbeat but nothing. From that first attempt i think i knew. Then she thought she may have.

My mouth was bone dry. No water for me in case they had to do a Caesar.

The obgyn arrived. Hooked up the sonar. Politely, almost educationally as if I was a student there to learn she pointed and said "this is where we would expect to see the heartbeat but you can see there is no movement".

The doctors version of "your baby is dead. Your life will never ever be the same."

A million thoughts go through your head in that moment - for one the absolute bittersweetness of having what I already knew confirmed: I was carrying a little girl - as I knew I was -I had dreamt of her so often. The feeling of "naturally this would happen. It was all too good to be true. The bubble was bound to burst", the feeling of "thank God for Stef. Thank God I have him in my life and we will go through this together".

I wanted to tell my dad. I think he was the only person I actually told - after that day the whole world seemed to know.

"Dad, they say my baby's dead."

I can't remember what he said except that they'd leave EL straight away and be in plett asap.

The doctor urged me to have a Caesar. I didn't want to. I really didn't want to. She agreed to try the induction but as soon as she felt any risk she'd do a Caesar.

The midwife understood and was determined to help me go natural. In retrospect it was as if they were unintentionally playing good cop bad cop and giving me something to focus on and work towards.

I remember the midwife hugging me and telling me "don't worry - I won't leave you. I'm not going anywhere." I remember thinking how futile that was and yet appreciating that that was the one thing this woman could do for me in this darkest hour and being deeply touched.

They started with the induction drips and the midwife used every other natural method she could think of from massaging reflexology points on my ankles to giving me natural medicines.

Once my folks arrived my dad walked me up and down the hospital hallway late into that night, steering my drip a we walked.

I'm not sure if they drugged me but in spite of the contractions I slept that night.

de ja vu

A friend visited this morning. While she was here some flowers were delivered. From my parents. Saying they are thinking of us this week. With those flowers came the end of the illusion that I'm fine and this is just another week. With those flowers the return (with a vengeance) of the old familiar nausea. With those flowers a time warp back to one year ago.

I sucked it up and pretended to listen to my friend. Relieved when she left at last.

A year ago we went through to Knysna for lunch, to a place called Cornuttis. It is gorgeous. Right by the Knysna Heads. I remember some older people chatting to us, asking if this was our first. We smiled naively, innocently, proudly.

I remember being anxious for the pregnancy to be over. I was missing my baby - since she had "dropped" on the Friday night she hardly moved at all, and when she did it was totally different. Very slow and soft. Or so I thought.

For some reason I don't have bad memories of Plett, as in I don't dread going to Plett - even though that's where we were that week. But Knysna. I think of the place and I feel ill. There was just an under current in that day of such dread and doom.

WOW I was in such denial. Idiot. Oblivious. I wonder if I will ever forgive myself for not realising, or admitting. Probably not.