29 days in my countdown until the due date of our son. I’m nearly finished packing our suitcase for our hospital stay and my little bag with birth necessities is ready. His room is all set up, co sleeper installed, we even have a small supply of nappies. Candy and birthday cards ready. Now it’s a waiting game.. It has become almost impossible for me to sleep with all the aches and pains topped with the pelvic instability. I can describe the pain as feeling like you are about to be ripped apart by your pubic bone when trying to turn in bed. Because you now, these pregnant nervous legs can’t hold still. It’s like my body is forcing me into a different position every 15 minutes. But I’m grateful for being on pelvic rest, I get to recuperate a bit of sleep by napping during the day, that is, if he is not awake and turning my ribcage into his private own trampoline ;-).

Elli, my firstborn daughter who passed away, just had her first birthday in heaven this past Monday. It was day of excruciating pain and endless love. I woke up at 5 and decided to write the midwife who brought Elli into the world a letter to say thank you. Thank you for making my stillborn birth memorable in a positive way. Thank you for the opportunity to live my life like this besides my loss. Thank you for giving me the choice in how I wanted to say goodbye. Writing the letter was like bringing that day back to life. I could remember the room, the words and smells. The moments where I suspected us to obliterate out of the sheer crushing sensation that loss brought along. But she pulled us through that day. Helped us see beyond death, helped us see the pretty girl that was still ours for eternity, only to never be with us in this life again. I cried the whole morning and slept the entire afternoon. But felt rejuvenated to know that we where going to hospital in just a bit. I bought the most beautiful orchids and thank you card for the entire ward and left our midwife the letter in her box for she wasn’t working that day. And I was actually happy when she wasn’t there so I was able to leave the L&D ward without looking like a sad panda.

We ended up our visit by burning our daughter a candle in hospital and thanking her for giving her brother to us who is to be here so soon, yet it feels impossible… and endlessly far away. Trying to explain the love and gratitude will be both my life’s quest and an impossible task. But I’ll be searching for the right words forever so I can tell her brother what he can be thankful for when he’s in a rough patch.

Any tips on surviving 29 more nights in this state is greatly appreciated! 😉

Love, S.

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