I skipped a day- did you notice Peanut? I won’t even manage to finish this entry before midnight. We came home very late last night and I didn’t write to you, but I still visited your grave to say goodnight. I had promised you I would.

It was a pretty full day yesterday. I went to see a women’s health specialist to talk about getting pregnant again. Basically, just to ask if conceiving now meant higher risk of another miscarriage. I felt like I might be ovulating and I started to panic.

She did reassure me. She told me the risk would be the same as your pregnancy, which is obviously not completely reassuring but means I’m not setting myself up for failure. Your Daddy is scared I mightn’t be able to take it if I miscarried again straight away. It wouldn’t be easy, but we play the hand we’re dealt.

I would ask you one thing my Baby- were this to happen to me again, would you please look after my next baby? I worry so much even now about you being alone. I think if I lost another baby, thinking of you together might be the only thing to get me through it.

I saw my GP again today. I was worried because I had rusty coloured blood in my mucus and I thought my cervix might be open again. It’s not, and apparently my last ultrasound showed I still had a small feeding vessel in my endometrium, so that could be the source. I told my GP I’d been to the psychologist, which she’d suggested only a couple of days after I lost you. I asked why she’d suggested it when the grief was so fresh and raw and she told me that compared to other miscarrying women, my reaction was “over the top”. My head reeled to hear her say that.

I spoke to the clinic nurse about my blood results, which are good. My beta-HCG has plummeted to only 3 so hopefully my cycle is starting up again. But she gave me what has probably become my least favourite bullshit-ism of miscarriage- “Pregnancy tests these days…. 50 years ago you wouldn’t even have known you were pregnant”. Fucking rubbish. Women 50 years ago were not so stupid that if they were trying to have a baby and their period was 5 weeks late and their boobs were huge and sore and they were sick and tired that they wouldn’t know what was going on. And if you hadn’t known already, you’d have cottoned on when the baby fell out of you. And it’s not 50 years ago.

I understand that often people don’t know what to say. I don’t want them to try to make me feel better, because they can’t. I just want to know they care. Just acknowledge the fact that the baby I was so happy to be carrying has died.

Sometimes I feel like a cautionary tale- I am The Girl Who Wanted You Too Much. I just don’t know how I could ever have felt any other way about you. I still want you too much.

I just realised that it has now been about the same amount of time since I started miscarrying as the time I knew I was pregnant. It takes my breath to think of that distance between us. I still remember so well how it felt to know you were there. I’d just pause and smile to myself and no one knew. It was just you and me.

I don’t know what it will feel like to do this again. When I pee on a stick and see that second pink line swim into focus, it won’t be my first time. I’ve done that. I’ve made those memories, and they’re of you. And they don’t end very well. I have lost all innocence.

I just really wish so fucking hard that this wasn’t our story. I don’t want to be this girl. I want you to get the chance to be anyone at all. It made me so angry when the psychologist said I wasn’t thinking about you, only myself. I mourn all your lost possibilities. The story that should be yours is blank.

You are always in my heart and always on my mind.

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