Things were going great. A super little bump was developing and people had started to notice I was pregnant.
But on Thursday, after a lovely day at the Chelsea flower show, the spotting began. Then a big bleed on Friday morning, and then nothing until the evening. Then it really started.
I am currently sitting on a plastic bag on the stairs at DD's house, waiting for things to slow down enough that I can go to bed. Soon I hope.
I'm sad of course. I have cried. But not all that much. Yet. It doesn't feel as bad as last time, partly because I know what to expect, and partly because I didn't subject myself to the horrors of the A&E department. I am pleased with my body. It's good at miscarriages. I think it's going to get it all out by itself again. I am thankful for that at least.
I know it hasn't really sunk in yet. Little things are getting me, like seeing a name I like, and then remembering I no longer need to make a list.
At first I thought that was it, that I have my answer now, and I am meant to be a mum of just one. But already too I have thought maybe I should try again. When does this end?
Goodbye to another child I will never get to know. I am pleased I enjoyed you while you were here with us, but so sad you left us already.
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