Sunday, 11 July 2010

i was clearing the bags of stuff that i seem to have accumulated before. throwing things away, shredding other things. i got three bags of stuff down to two.

at the end, i found a purple notebook. i remembered it, but not the contents.

i flipped it open. only to be confronted with the list of possible names i'd written while pregnant.

D didn't want to name the baby, for very similar reasons to those emily talks about here.

but i think any name, now, will kind of feel wrong.


it's weird to think that any baby i have in the future will be a different baby to that which i would have had had my first baby not died.

even though i've now passed my due date, that's still true. different egg, different sperm. and different parents. ones who've drank an awful lot more alcohol than they would have otherwise. had more sleep. a mother who's on antidepressants.

and i'm sure i'll love any living children i ever may have.

but i'll have to make sure that i don't let them think that they are somehow second-best to the baby who died, that they aren't some kind of consolation prize.


of course, i'll have to actually manage to have a living baby before any of this is an actual issue......


Illanare said...


Catherine W said...

There is a strange parallel universe quality to children. The chances of conceiving any particular child are so slight.
I remember thinking about the odds of me actually being 'me' when I was a child (my mum told me that she thought about marrying someone else before she met my dad) and being a bit frightened almost!
J certainly has very different parents to those we might have been too x

B said...

it's amazing that any child is born ever.

i think the thing that gets to me is that most people don't realise what miracles their children are.