A joyful life

Today I am 31 weeks pregnant.

I guess if this baby boy was born today he would be viable. I expect that he would be bigger than the average 31 week baby -- his sister Freyja certainly was. Freyja weighed 1.4 kg and was 42 cm long when she was born at 28 weeks -- the equivalent of a 32 weeker. Kees weighed 3.5 kg when I was induced at 37 weeks. I always laugh when I hear stories of women who gave birth at 42 weeks and who also end up with a 3.5 kg baby. My sister and my boss -- both delivered at 42 weeks -- both ended up with babies weighing 3.5 kg!! I shudder to think how big Kees would have been had he been born at 42 weeks!!

We visited the obstetrician yesterday. Everything looks fine. Baby is growing fine. He still has way too much space in there -- which causes me lots of discomfort these days. One minute he's head down, pushing into my cervix, next minute it feels like he's jumping up and down on my (pea-size) bladder.

And yet none of these things are reassuring.

Everyone I have real life contact with (which is a fairly limited group of people) assumes that I must be feeling good and comforted. As if this third pregnancy, which seems to be going well at the moment, somehow makes everything better.

Craig spoke to his mum via Sky.pe the other day. She had heard that we were pregnant again. (Craig and I have very limited contact with his family.) She said to him that she "understood our desire to have a child". I don't think she understands anything at all. In fact, her behaviour since Kees died clearly displays to all and sundry that she doesn't understand anything about us at all.

Most people who find out that we're pregnant again, say that they "understand". However, they then go on to say that "this time everything will be ok" or something similar, which clearly indicates to me that they don't understand at all.

Just because so far everything seems to be going ok with me and this baby, doesn't really mean anything. I mean, there could already be something wrong this baby, and we just don't know it. It happens all the time. Lots of babies die in utero, and the parents find out afterwards that there was something wrong. Too late then.

Or there could be nothing wrong with this baby, but he could still just die. This morning I felt him kicking and dancing around in my tummy, but maybe that was it. Maybe he'll just die now. That's happened before. That's what happened with Freyja. No reason for her death. She just died.

And that's just what could happen to the baby. That's just for starters.

I'm no spring chicken any more. I'm going to be 41 years old in 6 weeks time. There's a reason why older women face more risks when they become pregnant. There really is. It's not just made up.

I googled "high risk pregnancy" the other day. (This is the site I looked at: http://www.obfocus.com/questions/qanda13.htm) I mean there's pretty much no question that I'm high risk -- the factors speak for themselves: previous stillbirth, previous neo-natal death, maternal age, etc. It's pretty obvious.

Yet, the average person on the street (and pretty much everyone I know except other babylost mamas) believes that this pregnancy will unquestionably turn out ok. Because, after all, it couldn't happen for a third time could it???

It continues to amaze me --- that ability which most humans have --- in spite of all the evidence to the contrary --- that ability to believe that bad things only happen to bad people. That ability to believe that bad things will not happen to them. That sure knowledge that if only they are optimistic enough, everything will be ok. Sometimes I feel that because I don't believe, that because I lost my optimism some time ago, maybe that is part of the reason why my children are dead.

All these optimistic people -- they're not really optimistic at all. Actually, I think they live in a bubble. A bubble of their own creation. It's my experience that those bubbles eventually pop. Of course, some people are lucky. Very, very lucky. Their bubbles never pop. They live happily optimistic and certain of all things good in their lives, convinced that life is fair, and that bad things only happen to those who deserve it. (Or otherwise, the bad things are part of God's plan, and they don't have to worry, because it's all under God's control.)

And people like me -- people who have been burdened with the worst possible burden -- well, we don't really feature in that bubble life. We don't belong in that bubble life. Our burden destroys bubbles. That's why they say "this time everything will be ok". Because then they can walk away and continue with their life in their bubble.

I don't live in a bubble. I live in an apartment. It's a very small apartment, but it's big enough for Craig and me and our cat Blair. I don't like to leave the apartment very often. For some reason I feel safe in the apartment. I don't need to talk to people, I don't need to listen to their meaningless (and usually offensive) platitudes. I don't have to watch parents being careless with their children. I don't have to see mums and/or dads smoking around their newborn babies. I'm not confronted by perfect bubble people. I don't need to be offended by the world. The only problem is that even the safeness of my apartment is an illusion. I will never be able to forget that this is where Kees died. The sofa in our lounge room is where his heart stopped. This lounge room is where police officers, ambulance medics, doctors, and others, crowded around my dead son to revive him.

There is nowhere safe. Safety is an illusion. Life is not fair. Bad things happen randomly.

Yet I still have hope. Hope that maybe, if I'm really, really fortunate, this time it will turn out differently. Hope that this baby will be born alive. Hope that this baby will live and grow. Hope that baby will give me a chance to heal. To become a whole person again. To become the person I know I can be. I still have hope that something beautiful can come out of this nightmare which has been my life for the last three years.

I hope for a joyful life.