I’ve taken a little break from the blogging scene, because I knew there was one topic I’d want to share, but I wanted to do it my own way, in my own words, in my own time. A topic a lot of females find painfully hard to discuss. Some may even hate themselves to this day however I’ve come to realise, there is no shame, nothing to hide away about, people aren’t going to treat you differently or even act differently towards you, they most certainly won’t think you’re a killer. I spent a whole week telling myself that I couldn’t be upset because I already had children. I went as far enough to completely break from my friends that I considered a lifeline. It was easier for me in that sense, because I didn’t want to listen to positivity, I didn’t want to listen to reasoning. I was numb on the inside and it was creeping through my cracks tainting all my thoughts of rationality I had. At times, praying felt all too much for me, almost like it was worthless.

Matt visited end of last June, and left early in July, he had left something behind, something we had no idea he would leave. A piece of him. I noticed over the weeks I was becoming more tired, my body was hurting all over again and I was so unsure as to why.
It wasn’t until the dreaded date of mother nature was meant to knock on the door, and give me a weeks supply of chocolate – never arrived. I am that female that is like clockwork. Every single month, since I was fourteen, mother nature called, same time every single month. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been on contraception, or pregnant, had children, it has always reset straight back to the twenty-third of the month. That’s when it hit me, everything I had been feeling, the pains, the extreme tiredness for no reason what so ever, my gut instinct was screaming “pregnant.” I left this for a few days, just to see if I was wrong, however still nothing, so I told Matt, the following few days, I took a test however this said “Negative” so again, I just assumed my gut instinct was wrong, it has to let me down one day right? So I went about my following weeks, done a bit of summer cleaning, moving and lifting heavy furniture, putting my body under a lot of stress, trying so hard to freshen up my home, shampooing carpets and all sorts. More sleepless nights, then on Sunday I experienced some pretty bad cramps followed by spotting. Of course, I didn’t think twice about a pregnancy because a test had confirmed there wasn’t a pregnancy so I just assumed Mother Nature was nearly two weeks late!
I’m not one to really tell Matt everything I’m going through, there are times when he has no idea if I’ve thrown up, or if I’m really ill and I generally tell him a few days later, I just tell him I’m fine, this is literally because previously, in my past I’ve experienced that if I’ve said how I’m feeling, I get yelled at, accused of being a drama queen, that other people are worse off and that I just need to keep quiet and just get on with life. I’m still learning to just speak up about my general well being, so for the most time, I tell others that I’m okay, when really, I could be breaking so much on the inside and no one will ever know.

Monday the eighth of August came around, I decided to go for a walk, a Pokemon hunt mixed in with some park time for the children, I was okay, I was feeling tired and my cramps where getting stronger so I knew that in the evening mother nature was in full force, however mother nature had a different plan entirely. It wasn’t even a stressful walk/park trip, it was quite relaxing with a random conversation with a child’s grandfather which was out of the blue, and my anxiety was dealt with on the low. It was refreshing, I didn’t feel uncomfortable and I wasn’t on the borderline of a panic attack. We managed to get home around one, I had said my goodbyes to Matt as he was falling asleep due to coming home from work, about 30/40 minutes after he fell asleep, my cramps got wild, so wild, that it caused me to pass out, I’m not even sure how long I was out for, however when I did come around, I was shocked to my stomach at my findings. I hadn’t seen that much blood without being inside a labour room. I was scared, my neighbour heard me scream, she came running around, saw me, rang the doctors, paid for a taxi down, looked after my children, I tried to maintain conversation with people around this time, because I was scared and I needed an escape of the reality I was in. After much podding, poking, compressing, blood samples, internal scans, confirmation, I was told that my wonderful negative pregnancy test, was indeed a false one. That I was indeed pregnant, around 5/6 weeks – which is why they attempted an internal scan, where I could see a blob, a blob that was in the process of taking the shape of a beautiful little human being. One that I knew would have been loved with a passion, one that would of had an amazing father. I felt like my heart had just been ripped out, I was given pain killers, antibiotics incase there was an infection, iron tablets and some tablets to take for a few days to just clot the blood up. I was told everything to look out for and to not be alarmed, and how after my next mother nature was over and done with, a follow up appointment to make sure no infection had happened in the mean time.

Getting back into that taxi was the hardest part of that day, it was almost as if I was thrown straight back into the real world. This is actually happening and no one could tell me why. That’s when the paranoia started to take shape. Everything I had done in the lead up would bring me here, to this moment. I wasn’t careful, I didn’t act on my gut instinct, I didn’t think twice about going to the doctors, I just believed whatever was the result, was the outcome.

Matt and I always talk about children, about the ones we have, to wanting more, when we wanted more, how many more did we want, believe me, it was soon, and a fair few. Neither of us has set a “maximum number” of children to have, I keep saying no more after I’m 35, then I think having one at 36,37,38 wouldn’t be a bad thing. It’s hard to stare at the man who roams your dreams on a regular basis, who builds you up of butterflies, that make you weak at your knees and fall head over heels in love with that you’re going to stop after two because I swear, every time I look at him, I just want to give him everything, the complete world, even if it means a little league to go with it, so even though this baby wouldn’t have been planned, or followed any schedule that either of us wanted or liked, this baby at some point, existed, had a future. Yeah, being long distance and not in the same country for scans and doctors appointments would of been hard, especially with two children already, and as much as it scared me when I had the moment of realisation that I was pregnant before taking the test, I freaked out, said how I didn’t want it, how it wasn’t practical, how it would be a blessing in disguise if I wasn’t pregnant, however I know that I would have made it work, I would have made it all work somehow and we would do it together, however this, didn’t give us the chance, didn’t give us the option. Just completely taken away from us, and there was nothing we could do to help.

I spent that afternoon trying to get hold of matt. I remember counting the hours down until I could eventually get through to him, and I wasn’t even sure how to tell him, and it hurt, every moment hurt, every second felt like an hour to me, and when I finally heard his voice, I just couldn’t grasp my emotions. He had so many questions and I tried to answer them as much as I could without leaving out the details. All I could do was apologise. That I was sorry this happened, that I couldn’t protect who would have been, our first child together. He was so calm, he understood that I was in pain, he was there, he’d hear my screams, he’d tell me to breathe through all the pain, when I couldn’t sleep, he was talking to me to try and get me to sleep, trying to focus me on my breathing.
I didn’t understand how he could be so calm and collected about something, there wasn’t a single hint of sadness in his voice, almost like everything was fine, everything was just as normal as it was. I deactivated my social media for a bit, it was a place where I didn’t want to see baby scans, baby talk, baby photos, I know it sounds silly because I have two perfect healthy children and there’s alot of couples out there that are trying so hard for a child and still not succeeded, or they can’t have children. I’m allowed to be just as hurt, I’m allowed to be angry at things, it’s not nice for any person to experience this. Regardless of the situation. When Matt broke the following day, it hit me so damn hard, my anchor fell apart and whats worse, is that we had to fall apart separate from each other, a phone call, where we cried, together. I know when I see him, when I hold him, it’s going to be heartbreaking, So I think I’ll need to take my entire bag of make up, not to mention replacement eyelashes in case those get ruined!

I knew from this moment, that I was breaking, I was falling apart. Voices and sounds were like nails on a chalk board, my own words leaving my voice where like glass cutting my throat, slicing away, away cramp felt like someone was twisting multiple sharp objects in my body causing more and more pain, my sleepless nights brought sweats, fevers, sickness, screams, every touch was foreign, praying was becoming so damn hard, I felt like a joke, that I didn’t need saving, that I should in fact, completely end whatever I was doing, I couldn’t breathe without me feeling like I was being suffocated. I was shattered, broken into a million and one different pieces with everyone telling me I’m okay and to be strong, and that I can get through anything because I’m a strong person not to mention the whole be strong for your children argument people would stress to me. I relapsed. I’m ashamed to say it, but at the same time, it was either that, or finding a store, finding a drink, finding something, slipping back into my own ways. So the only thing I could, was cut. I cut, to release the pain, to punish myself for what I allowed to happen to our baby. I will always believe that this was my fault, considering there was so many factors that could have stopped this, could have prevented this, and maybe I’d be typing a very different blog post. A blog post that doesn’t get me crying, a blog post where I’m not breaking, where I’m allowing myself to be judged by everyone and call me a bad parent.

I hate myself for what happened, I’m trying to make some understanding to this. I’m praying again, I’m trying to get some clarity on this because I need that right now, I’m struggling to be the happy me that I was three weeks ago, completely confused with my life right now, I feel so distant and disconnected from everyone, even still, I’m trying.

However, I don’t want to forget about our child. Matt wanted to give our baby a name, I just couldn’t do it, It was either a boy or a girl, and only time would have told us that, so for now, our little bean, our Baby Ranberg, will never be forgotten,  I’ll pray every night, that God has you in his hands, holding you each night. I hope he tells you all about us, and that we really would of been the best parents to you that you could ever imagine, but for now, he needed you more than we did, and whilst this is hard so so hard for me to say, because I’ll always believe that we needed you, he has you. He’s protecting you, something I couldn’t do and he’s going to show you the wonders of the world, and show you the path that he’s taking us down and hopefully, one day, we will get to hold you.