Walk with me through this slump

This morning feels heavy. No actually, this whole week has been a slump. There's a few reasons why and maybe even some reasons that aren't as obvious.

Firstly, it's period week. My cycle after having Charlie has been wild. It came back fast and heavy. I ache in places I had never ached before and every luteal phase is a reminder to my body of what it doesn't have and I find my body itself go into a deep mourning. I am easily irritated, cry more easily than I usually do and just feel in a slump without being able to exactly put my finger on it. I often wonder if there is something in our bodies knowing the baby is absent after baby loss. As in, it's birthed the baby but the baby's pheromones and touch are nowhere and your whole body aches for it and every cycle when there is no fertilisation, your body just screams out, 'there's no baby!'

I miss him so deeply this morning. The car is the best place for a cry and usually without a doubt, if I am driving past the ambulance station and there is some activity there that draws my attention, my heart rate rises, I get flashbacks of the birth and the transfers to both hospitals and the ache reasserts itself in the pit of my chest. I get this realisation, again, that he's not coming back. That I have a whole lifetime to miss him. Somedays I try to reassure myself that he is still with me, in spirit, or presence, or something. The difficult part with baby loss though, is I'm so confused as to how to imagine him. Is he growing? Can he develop a conscious mind? Can he have the capacity to be proud? Or to listen to me speak to him? My deep, dark, logical mind tells me, no. He died as a baby, that had not developed conscious thoughts and I think this simultaneously as feeling goosebumps on my skin when I speak aloud to him.

We received his death certificate earlier in the week. Yes, it's taken five and half months and continuous phone calls and follow ups to have his death certificate sent to us. Gracie and I poured over it, her spotting the 'C' for Charlie which she now spots on signs even driving down the street. I pointed out my name and Bradley's name and she questioned why her name wasn't on it. It should say 'Grace L...Big Sister.' I agreed with her. There's a space on death certificates for marital status and children. I think that bit got Bradley most of all; seeing the 'never married' under marital status and 'N/A' under his children. There are so many things that we will never get to see our son experience.

I had this sudden regret last night that I didn't get to tell him fully how much he meant to me. How I didn't get to tell him that not only did I love him then but I'll love him for every second of my whole life. I didn't get to tell him about this world in the detail that he deserved. He came and went so fast. We told him about the chooks at home and the beach but I wish I could have told him that there are spiders out there that can camouflague on a flower to catch their prey or that zebras have stripes to confuse their predators. That's just surface level. There is so much beauty in this world that I didn't get to tell him about. But as Bradley pointed out, there wouldn't ever be enough time with him. We would never be able to take enough photos of him, touch him enough, smell his little baby smell enough. We would and will never be able to put into words the type of love for him we have, that I think only a parent can comprehend.

Earlier in the week, I went to the park with a mum friend of two. We were chatting to another mum there and as usual, I felt on the outer (I do this to myself). The other mum excitedly told us that her boy, who was playing with our girls was going to be a big brother soon! My first thought was, 'that's what you think. You think you're going to have a baby.' I immediately reprimanded myself for being sour; 'You've had that time. You announced your pregnancy when you found out about Charlie, let her have her time, her joy.' Of course, I kept that in my thought bubble and instead, plastered a smile on myself and squeezed out a, 'Oh! Congratulations!' Then what ensued was a discussion on how wonderful siblings are and the joy that you see as they bond and grow older together. I observed as these two mothers, had this conversation together that was full of optimism, of confidence and I retreated within myself. The self that used to think that falling pregnant meant you were going to have a baby and your other baby was going to be a big sister, hunkered down in my chest and licked it's wounds.

Bradley met up with one of the most beautiful, genuine people out there for a coffee during the week too. He is one of the ambulance officers that was present at Charlie's birth. He is the one that sat in the ambulance and cared for Charlie on the way to hospital and was at one point, caring for me too. He is Charlie's namesake. Some days I'm not sure if I believe in signs but I think the immensity of loss kind of makes you cling on to whatever comfort you can. I think to be honest, we deserve to believe in something if we must endure that which is so horrifying. I have not seen any of the other ambulance officers since Charlie died but since his birth and death, I have seen this kind person many times. He seems to have come into our life since Charlie physically left it, and if it's the presence that our Charlie was going to adopt in his life, I would be so proud of him. (You know I would be anyway. I am proud of my son without even knowing how his life would have turned out).

Our little boy had the longest list of complications on his discharge papers and every day I am amazed how much one little body could handle so much for almost two weeks. Life is really designed to want to live. Every little fibre in his body was fighting to survive so that he could be with us, so that he could continue to give and receive love but that's what makes me realise the intricacy of life too. It seems so simple when it's healthy but when one tiny little error in the creation of a person can lead to such drastic outcomes, it makes you realise how life itself is really a miracle. I mean, it's amazing that any of us are here, really.

I think that's a good thought to end on and one which I'll endeavour to keep in my mind today. Life sometimes feels monotonous, bigger than us and maybe it is. Maybe we are here to observe the beauty of it and to fully realise the miracles that we are. The fragility of life is a terrifying prospect but also a deeply beautiful one too. You're my inspiration, my little miracle boy.