I wouldn’t normally write this kind of post… It feels wrong even giving it a title… but watching post after post appear in my Facebook timeline as so many anguished friends, friends of friends, and fellow parents revealed their experiences with baby-loss, I felt compelled to write something.
I’m the first to complain after a shitty tantrum-filled day, or a sleepless night, or my 3-year old blacking-up with face paint while I’m sneaking a Twix in the downstairs loo… But all of that just seems like a load of pointless, trivial bollocks when you get a bit of perspective.
Those women and men are fucking brave.
Strong. And brave. And amazing.
When I read the stories of multiple miscarriages, failed IVF and tiny lives taken too soon, I just wanted to forgive every crappy night, every spoilt, teary and angry moment, and all the times I felt I just couldn’t bloody do it today… and hug the shit out of my kids.
I’ve had my own experiences with miscarriage but never felt strong enough to speak up about it. Probably because I am fortunate enough to have two beautiful, healthy children, and I can focus my emotions and attention on them. That’s been my way of dealing with it.
Parenting has given me with amazing highs and deep dark times. My kids have taught me to love and laugh (and drink gin) in ways I never thought I could, and push me to the limits of my sanity (and iPad battery) daily.
But as much as I swear and rant and joke about daily life as a mum, I don’t take it for granted and I wouldn’t change a fucking thing. (Except maybe my never-sleeping 9-month old and the whole toddler-taking-a-shit-in-Costa-thing…)
We are all mums and dads. And I know many of you reading this will have loved and lost tiny lives too.
And the level of support and understanding I’ve witnessed through my own blog and across social media for each other is awesome and truly touching.
Let’s keep that shit up.
And have a gin to that.