The toughest choice

It’s 6am and we’re skyping the other side of the world. ‘Get the camera off me, my hair is mental!’ I’m barely awake.

I don’t want to feel this angry forever. Christ! I’d be incredibly grateful if I could park this by Christmas but I have to accept I will always feel a sadness.

Having a stepson when I will never have a child of my own was a blessing. Every moment was precious and his loss is all over the house. It’s all over me.

We do still have him but he is not here. He is 12 hours ahead and 27 hours away and I worry he’ll forget me and my time as stand in mummy will be my memory to cradle.  Our family wrestles in the park, arguments over how much food he has to eat, trips to the beach, nerf gun fights and our ridiculous chatter about made up characters in Dr Seuss books. I want him to remember it the way I do. Feel about it the way I feel.  Miss it the way I miss it every day.

I know he won’t. It’s different for children.

Someday I hope he learns how his loss nearly tore us apart. How his loss stopped his father wanting another child and  left me unable to visit my best friend’s baby because the pain of seeing her new arrival was too much for me to bear. One day I hope he knows how much he was and is loved.

We wanted you here but your mum wanted to go and legals were just too angry. She would have fought and fought and you were so upset for a while.

The weekend when you cried out and asked your dad not to hurt you was gutwrenching.  Gentle as ever he only wanted to play and you screamed and ran away as he entered the room. You hid under the coffee table and only I could calm you down. The battle hadn’t even started and you’d picked up on the telephone arguments. You thought he was hurting your mum.

The battle stopped and the move began.

I wanted to fight harder. I would’ve paid for lawyer after lawyer for as long as it took but your dad said no. No trauma for his child. No statistics.

The battle stopped. You were calm again. Life was calm again. It was all that mattered x



One of the things I miss the most right now is sleep. I just want to sleep.  I’ll do anything to sleep!

I’m too tired to chase It. It’s like being on drugs!

Don’t fuck with me sleep. I’ll be there at 10.30pm. Don’t let me down.

I want the kind of sleep you see on the television. Warm bed, soft pyjamas, steaming mug of milk. Big stretch. Smile at the day just done. Excited glance towards a cute bell topped alarm clock – ‘what will tomorrow bring?’ Comforting snuggle into the fresh deep bedding and …SLEEP!


Pretty sure I’ll drop off for an hour then treat myself to several hours of anxious worry, regret, self loathing and trust issues.


Trying to take the hit…

When I was a little girl I had a baby doll so realistic the neighbours thought they’d missed an arrival. Dad bought me cars and taught me how to fix things in the garage but the programming had already begun.

I just expected to be a mum one day. I had a marrow deep certainty. That’s what girls do. You know, have babies. Become mums. Mum, mother, mummy, mama, ma, mom, mere, that’s the goal for the girl with the hole.

Not having fulfilled life’s expectation haunts me. Follows me around like an evil entity taking my energy, my self esteem, my self worth, taking my fucking happiness!

Physically my body was up for kids you know. It tried once without me knowing but something went bang (I went bang) and it was just me again. It tried again a few years later but my head went bang and health and finances won over life. Back to just me I ran.

I’d run back to the clinic if I could. All melting make up and sorry, I didn’t mean it.  Please take me back. I’ll be a good mummy I promise.

Too little too late isn’t it?!

I killed my baby and now the man I’m with doesn’t want a child.  He already has one!

Guess I need to talk about it…