Earlier this year I had a miscarriage. I've written those words over and over again, and yet every time I type them they feel like they belong to someone else. It's such a strange thing to be able to say about yourself.
I didn't like being pregnant. It made me tired and grumpy and it stripped me of my ability to do the things that I loved best - specifically drinking, smoking and sitting outside pubs getting gently pissed. My friendships are based on the freedom to drink and stay up late. My quality time with my husband is sharing a bottle of buttery Chardonnay and talking about nothing in particular.
I had a missed miscarriage, which meant the pregnancy stopped developing around 6 weeks and 1 day, but my body continued to produce pregnancy symptoms so I didn't find out until I had a small bleed at 10 weeks. The day that we found out that there would be no baby, my husband and I walked from the hospital to the Waitrose in Kings Cross, which is my favourite shop in London.
Perhaps I've told myself that I hated pregnancy because it didn't stick. Like the fable of the fox and the grapes, where the fox claims he hates grapes because he can't reach any to pick, and subsequently loses out on eating any fruit.
Thank you for covering this, sadly after loosing your little one you never think your day will arrive when you hold your baby in your arms.❤️🌈
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