The worst kind of baby blues

 I’m Tina. A couple of months ago I miscarried. My world stopped, it fell flat on its arse. To say I was heartbroken was an understatement. It was very much a planned pregnancy. My fella and I, well we’ve been going through a rough patch. All this baby talk, it’s taken its toll. We both wanted it like crazy and it very nearly tore us apart.

It very much dominates everything. Like picking at a scab that will never heal, it’s raw and fresh and hurts so much. There’s no hiding away. Each time I can bear to look at myself, to lift my head and face what’s in front of me, pure torture. I must’ve failed in some way, my body was broken and unable to house a baby. Did I drink too much? Did I eat too much shite? Did I not soothingly talk to my minuscule bump enough? The uncertainty around the whys and the hows is unbearable. Yes, I get that it just happens, like a tortuous lottery where Mother Nature conspires against you getting what you’re naturally meant to have.

People offer sympathy in the way they’re most comfortable with. Tea and sympathy, practical support, arm rubs, hugs, offers to offload… I must’ve had it all. It’s a death, of course it is. They may not have ‘existed’ and stepped foot on this planet, but they had a beating heart, they were a something. My something. My world. God, it’s horrific and I hate it. Thing is, I need to get over it. Yeah I know it’s a brutal mindset, but… I think I’m pregnant. What if all this guilt, blame, and hurt washes through me and gets to the baby if there is one. It touches its tiny heart and mind, makes it hate me for killing its sibling. Crazy talk I know, this little one wouldn’t even be inside me if the other one would’ve lived. How the hell am I going to tell Scott?

First things first, I need to take the bloody test. I have three back-ups. I’m going to do it in my lunch break. I’ve been chugging back the water so I’ve enough pee for all the tests. I can’t even describe what I’m going through, the cogs in my head are whirring and the thoughts are mostly horrible and unkind. Should I even be allowed to have a baby after my broken body let me down? Maybe it’s not up to it and can’t take having a human life inside it. Right, just wait until you’ve taken the damn tests. Then you can have your mental breakdown.

They offered me counselling for the miscarriage. I refused, my stiff upper lip didn’t want to wane and quiver, at least not in public anyway. I should’ve had it though, I could have opened up. If I’m pregnant, it presents a whole new bundle of add-ons of issues doesn’t it. Okay, not long to go now. I’ll go and do the tests and whatever the outcome, then surely it’ll be alright? It has to be. I’m afraid to allow anything positive to cross my mind in case it’s snatched away again. Right, deep breaths, and here we go…