Baby Loss Awareness Week - Finding the words to talk about my rainbow baby

The English language is a great thing. For those of us who enjoy writing, we can mould and shape words into beautiful landscapes, capture memories, and share details of personal moments. Words bring us closer together. But what happens when there are no words? I started Learning Early four years ago when I first found out I was pregnant, and naively threw myself into baby-world, immediately deciding to blog my way through pregnancy.  Hubby and I were ecstatic, the situation wasn’t ideal, but we knew we’d make it work.  I remember it clearly – it was a Sunday morning, I’d suspected for a few days, but needed to wait until I took the test.  I sat in the bathroom, trying not to peek before the required 2 minutes had passed… but right on queue little blue line appeared.  I woke hubby up with the news, he swore a bit, grinned, and then scooped me up in his arms and laughed. We lay in bed for a while in a bubble of happy contentment, chatting about our new future as a threesome  – his hand occasionally stroking my belly.  

We excitedly told our families.

We could have only been five weeks gone when I found myself gazing through a shop window at all the baby toys and trinkets, when hubby squeezed my hand and asked if I wanted to buy something…

Miscarriage never crossed my mind.  

A couple of weeks later we lost our baby.  And with that moment the words started to dry up.

Child loss plunges you into darkness.  You grieve for the life you’ve lost, but also for the future.  There’s a moment in the scan room when the world that you’d so carefully started to build and cultivate in your mind just evaporates.

And you’re alone.

We spent days crying - I told colleagues I had back ache.

I was prescribed codine for the pain - I told the pharmacist I had whiplash.

I stuck to the taboos.  Kept the real source of my pain hidden.  Slowly, I started to paste a smile on my face that I didn’t feel and head back to the real world.  I hated every second.  I was lonely.  I wanted others to understand the pain I was feeling.  I wanted comfort.  I wanted to talk about my child. But I didn’t.

I never thought that it would take 4 years to fall pregnant again.  I started Learning Early anonymously because I was worried that potential employers would find it and become aware of my family plans, but slowly when no pregnancy appeared, my blog slowly dried up... 

Then I had a missed miscarriage in February 2016. We’d learnt from our first pregnancy and had decided not to share our pregnancy news with our families (why risk causing them the pain of a lost future too?), but told them and a few close friends about the miscarriage. We needed support.  I’d decided not to blog about the pregnancy either – I felt I’d been naïve previously, but now that the little one was gone, I didn’t know how to bring up that loss on a blog that I was already struggling to maintain…

I wasn’t ashamed.  But it was really really tough on me physically.  I got an infection, I needed constant check ups and scans at the hospital – and I fell back into old habits.  Twisting the truth to not make others uncomfortable about our situation, our loss, our grief,– I was seeing the doctor for “a surgery follow up” or I “needed a blood test” or whatever I could come up with on the spot.  I felt guilty.  I was reducing the loss of our son to a check up.

I've inadvertently gone by all the stereotypes that I've learnt to hate.  I despise the miscarriage taboos. We should talk.  We should support.  We should share our stories.  Miscarriage is horrible.  Miscarriage is painful.  But miscarriage is awfully common. There’s no reason it should be isolating.  

For those of us who have experienced this loss, we need stories of hope – we need to know that after all the suffering and grey skies there is the potential for happier times.  We keep on chasing those rainbows.  

Little Miss P's 12 Week Scan

It’s been a long road, but I’m currently nursing my little rainbow.  It took a while to find the words, to tell people we were expecting for a third time, and for then those words to take shape into physical action. Eventually Hubby and Father in Law started working on turning our third bedroom the nursery.  We bought a buggy. For my birthday Hubby got me a nursing chair.  

Then in May this year the little bubble of happiness that I had been growing in my belly swelled to new heights when our much waited for, and much loved daughter arrived by cesarean section.  Her warm little body curled up again mine, I have never felt such peace and joy as in that moment.  It felt like we’d crossed a finish line, and  won the biggest prize.

This week is Baby Loss Awareness Week, and it will also mark five months since Little Miss P’s arrival.

Hubby and I have lost two children – and we will never know why,  What I do know though is that no one should go through that alone, or think that loss will be the end of their story.   We hold our little girl close every day and love her fiercely and are grateful to have her in our lives.

I shouldn't have kept quiet about our earlier losses. I think I was trying to protect myself in someway, but I am ready to come out of the shadows.  To openly come clean online, shake off my anonymity and to not just tell my story, but to really share my experience.  

I firmly believe that we should all talk. Loss is nothing to be ashamed of. 

I will never forget the children that I have not been able to hold, but we are constantly making plans for  Miss P our rainbow baby, and the family that we have become.  Yes we continue to be anxious, and careful, and jumpy – but what parents aren’t? But we also enjoying bonding over our little one, from her first kicks to her first smile, wondering what her taste in music will be, and whether she will also love words as much as her Mum and Dad…

We know we’ll have lots to teach our little one, and lots to learn.

 

  

My name is Claire Dunford.  

I am Learning Early.

Memories

I can still sometimes feel the grass underneath my feet.

 I can't quite remember if I was wearing my school uniform, or whether it was the weekend, but other little details are etched in my memory as clear as if it was yesterday.  I remember the sky.  It was blue, not the bright blue associated with high-summer, but an off-grey-blue, something that promises a change in the weather, and it was streaked with growing clouds.  

I remember the rust on the swing that hung in my parents back garden, and I remember how the breeze tugged at it that afternoon and made the hinges squeak.

But most of all, I remember the stifling sense of frustration - what I don't remember is why.  In the way of childhood, I'd fled from the house and the responsibilities that had been placed on me (usually to tidy my room or such like), and had fled into the freedom of the garden.  I remember standing there and screaming as the tears flowed down my cheeks that I wanted it all to end, and wishing my hardest that the ground would swallow me up.

I don't remember what happened after.

I hadn't been yelled at or abused in anyway, but I'd felt trapped by life, and I had grasped the chance at freedom with both hands.  I'm pretty sure that I then picked myself up, shook myself off, and trudged back to what ever the perfectly reasonable task I had been asked to complete was.

It does make me wonder though, whether sometimes as adults, we aren't impulsive enough?  Yes, we all have responsibilities, yes, they take up our time and often keep us away from seeing the people we love, but they also give us the contrast to see those times when we're free of those responsibilities.  As a child I bucked against the chains that my parents tied to put on me, and in that moment created a memory so vivid that I can remember it decades on.  Eventually I calmed and accepted the instruction, and have continued to obey as I've got older... but, I have to wonder, as adults would we benefit from a little more 'childish' emotional investment?

Why does growing up have to be about completely conforming?  I'm not suggesting I want anarchy, but the world is such a rich and vibrant place, that sometimes you need to take a step out of the pattern you've created in order to really take-stock of your situation and to see the bigger picture.

As a youngster screaming for the earth to end it all, yes I might have been a bit over dramatic, but I also remembered looking up to the idea of adulthood and the freedom that came with it.  It's only now, as an adult, that I realise that it is that impulsive child who is really free... and that as we grow, we increasingly accept our roles.  

I studied a lot about innocence and experience in A-Level English, but I'm not really thinking about it at that level...  there are just some moments in life that shape you, and that those moments can happen at any time.  You might wish to be more innocent, or experienced depending on your stage of life, but the key thing is to always grasp your life with both hands.

Do you go down to the woods to play?

I have great memories of playing in farmers' fields as a child.  Climbing over stiles, slipping over in cow pats, even falling in nettles, to this day these childhood experiences have made me more comfortable in the countryside than out and about in a town.

I was lucky to grow up in the rural South West.  Every Sunday when I visited my grandparents I was free to let my imagination run wild in the nearby fields and orchards. Meaning that I've always felt at home in the quiet of the country.

Hubby and I took advantage of a few short hours of sunshine this long weekend to do some blackberry picking.  We're lucky as we live in a semi-rural area, and so a ten minute drive took us into the heart of a wooded area, loved by dog walkers and wild deer alike. 

We had a lovely morning, and it was wonderful to see the wood so full of families also exploring.  One little girl was, in ways only little children can be, completely enamoured by a slug, where as her brother was trying to get her to come and look at the hole he had found.  I couldn't help but smile at their wide-eyed amazement. It made me want to keep exploring around corners, and possibly even building a den out of fallen leaves.

I firmly believe that children should experience nature.  I didn't realise it as a child, but my Sunday afternoon scampering around the Somerset woodland was one of freedom.  I was allowed to follow my imagination, and I'd easily while away the hours simply thinking.

It never fails to astound me that If I ever have go attend a meeting for work I am at a complete loss without Google Maps and my mobile phone's GPS.  But drop me into a wood, I find myself confidently striding off, knowing that I'll be able to retrace my steps no matter how many corners tempt me round their bends.

It does amaze me that so many children are scared of forests.  Of course we all need to be careful, you don't want to get lost, and you don't want to always meet a stranger amongst the trees... However it is unlikely that you'll be gobbled up by the Big Bad Wolf if you're walking through the woods.

I do wish we lived in a world where patents could be more relaxed about the where their children played. 

Disney Pixar's Brave: Every little girl is a princess

I was never a girly girl as a nipper.  I hated clothes shopping - it was my idea of hell.  I remember clearly being at primary school and being surrounded by my ten year old class mates discussing their outfits for the school disco and being utterly bored by the conversation.  I also remember my classmates eyes bulging when I loudly announced that "I don't like fashion."  I seem to remember that beige was the hot colour of the time... I mean, who actually likes wearing beige?!

But that didn't stop me dreaming of life as a princess.  One of my earliest memories is reenacting the plot of Little Mermaid in the playground, and although I never landed the role of Ariel (my best friend had the longest hair, so she always took the lead - I always ended up portraying a random royal mermaid sister, or more usually best-fish-friend Flounder), I always dreamt of life as a Disney Princess.

Whether it be nose-in-a-book Belle, feisty Jasmine, or graceful Aurora, there is always something accessible about Disney's female protagonists, and their newest Princess, red-headed Merida, is no exception.

Brave follows Merida as she strives to live a life independent of her royal obligations.  Like Aladdin's Jasmine, she shuns them, wanting to experience more from life, but unlike Jasmine is more than capable of handling herself outside the palace walls.  With bow in hand, and wild hair streaming off her face Merida feels ready to take on the world and certainly doesn't need a smooth-talking street-rate to come to her rescue.  Merida definitely represents a very different Disney Princess.  She strong woman, who is prepared to fight for what she wants.

I know there will be a lot of discussion about how wonderful it is for young girls to see independent female characters in film, but that's only part of the magic.  The film is beautifully put together, funny, moving, at times fantastical, but at the same time grounded in something completely understandable - the newest Disney Pixar film is all about the quest for love and understanding - in the form of a future spouse, but also from family.

Both Hubby and I thoroughly enjoyed the film, and I left the cinema feeling full of energy and wondering where I could learn archery...  It reminded me of Sunday afternoons climbing trees, making forts in hedges and coming in covered in mud after slipping up in a cowpat.  Brave is a really refreshing film, that made me remember just how magical Independence and exploration is. I really do hope we do see young girls (and boys) grabbing toy bows and letting their hair fly free.