Postpartum Without A Baby

I'd imagined the fourth trimester to be tiring, but happy and an exciting time as we adjusted to life as a family. The time where I’d recover from birth, get to know my baby and hopefully find a good relationship with breastfeeding. Stephen would have his 2 weeks off work, we’d have our newborn photoshoot, go on our first outing as a family and have all the people that wanted to meet our girl come round for cuddles. 

But, we didn't get any of that, and in all honesty, I'd forgotten that I’d just given birth, very quickly. Yes, I had the postpartum bleeding that would remind me, but I didn't think at one point to sit down and look after myself, because my body had just gone through childbirth. For weeks I’d look down and still expect to see my bump, because if my baby wasn't here, surely I was still pregnant? I can't have just given birth because my baby isn't here, right? Wrong, I’d given birth, I was just unable to bring my baby home.

The sleepless nights were supposed to be because my baby needed feeding, changing, or cuddling. Instead they were because my baby had died. I couldn't sleep because I’d just been through the most traumatic event in my life, one that’s far too much for anyone to handle.

I remember thinking when I was pregnant that I’d look at my body after I’d given birth, and smile. Smile because although I may not like how it had changed, but because it’s have brought my baby girl into this world and for that, I’d be proud of it. That couldn't have been farther from what I thought when I looked at myself in the mirror when we got home from the hospital. It was the day of Freya's funeral that I first looked at myself, I stood looking in the full-length mirror in my dressing room, holding my tummy as I'd put on my dress and screamed. I almost fell to the floor, but Stephen rushed in and caught me. I wanted so badly to still be pregnant, that looking at myself without a bump was just another stark reminder that she was gone.

After that, I couldn't look at myself for weeks. It's been 14 weeks as I'm writing this, and I still haven't stood in front of that mirror again. I've looked down at my stretch marks a couple of times, but every time I do, I get angry. Angry that I’ve got a postpartum body but no baby to show for it. I always struggle when showering, Stephen will stand with me and distract me whilst I do, so I don't get too caught up in my body. 

When I was talking to the doctor at the hospital about my options to deliver Freya, she told me that a C-Section would leave a permanent reminder of what had happened (the scar), and I understand that completely, but I couldn't help but think, surely that's there anyway? In my stretch marks, in my little 'Mum pouch' as people call it, that I now have. I even have a couple of skin tags that I developed when I was pregnant that seem to want to stay.

Grieving and dealing with postpartum hormones at the same time was an experience, the first two months were very dark. I remember telling my Mum and Gemma that I didn't feel as though I had a purpose anymore, that there was no point in getting up every day because what did I have to get up for? Some days I wouldn't get out of bed, and on the days that I did, it usually took Stephen and my Mum to convince me to do so, some days practically dragging me out of it, and even then I only made it to the sofa. 

I remember one day screaming at my Mum, telling her my that baby had just died, surely I have a right to be sad and stay in bed all day if I wanted to? And I did, we all knew I had the right to do that, but I know now that they just wanted me to get better and stronger, that pushing me was the best thing they could’ve done.

I saw it in my Mum's eyes one day, how worried she was that I’d never come back from that deep dark place, it hit then. They weren't denying my grief, they were just trying to get me through it. I'm not saying I'm completely out of it now, I'm still far from it, but every now and then I see a little glimmer of light, it doesn't last long, but I take it in every time, and I appreciate it for that small moment.

One thing I wasn't prepared for, was the first postpartum period. Not even because of the period itself, that was fine. Surprisingly my body went back to my normal cycles just 5 weeks after giving birth (I'm lucky for that, I know). It was the emotions that came with it that I’ve struggled with the most, I felt like my body had forgotten her. That was it, that chapter of being pregnant with her had officially came to an end. I hated it, I’d cry every time I went to the toilet. I was no longer pregnant. I knew I wasn't, but this made it all the more real.

I'm trying to tell myself every day that my postpartum body isn’t a bad reminder of our girl, it's a reminder that she was here. She was a part of me, I grew her for 38 weeks and I kept her safe. It wasn't my bodies fault (that, I still have to remind myself of more than once a day, Stephen still has to scream it at me during many emotional breakdowns). Most of the time I don't believe it when I say these things to myself, the anger takes over that she isn't here.

But one day, hopefully, I will believe it. Because, I did have a baby, and what a beautiful baby she was. A baby that I hope touches many people's hearts, and a baby that if I’ve got anything to do with, that will never be forgotten.