I wobbled over whether I should blog about my miscarriage or not but I’m glad that I did. Talking has helped. More than I realised it ever would actually. As has crying buckets and being smothered in love.
The promise of bacon sandwiches has got me out of bed every morning. And my gorgeous children have kept me from creeping back. There’s a lot to be said for having to carry on with some sort of normality for their sakes. They’ll probably never know about our baby that wasn’t meant to be. And they’ll never know why I’ve been squeezing them that little bit too long and too tight. But it has all helped.
I am usually pretty crap at knowing what to say to others at times like this, terrified of saying the wrong thing. But I realise now that you don’t actually have to say much at all. I’ve been sent the most lovely messages of genuine support and the best cyber snogs. I’ve also been astounded and heartbroken by just how many other women have been through this hell too.
And to the friend who isn’t quite sure what to say so you keep me company until silly o’clock in the morning playing Draw Something when sleep evades me? That has helped too. Honestly and truly. More than you will ever realise.
I have really bloody amazing friends who will never quite know how much they have helped.
And I have an even more amazing man.
I’m getting there. I think.