As I scroll through my Facebook feed, as I drive down the road, as I walk through the supermarket. There I am, surrounded by ultrasound pictures and bumps.
Each one reminding me how empty I am.
Each black white and grey ultrasound picture, taking me back to that room, to that moment, when the sonographer confirmed what we already knew.
Each perfectly rounded bump making me feel small and flat.
Even at home. In the safety of my family, each time my darling daughter picks up her doll, and feeds it, lifting her top and proudly telling me, “baby wants boobie mummy”. Each time she baths it, pats it’s back as it rests on her shoulder and shushes for it to sleep.
I am reminded.
Reminded of that baby, the one that was lost, the one that should now be a 6 month sized bump.
And it hurts.
“at least you know you can get pregnant”
“at least you have one already”
“aren’t you going to have another one soon?”
“do you only want one child?”
I want, I need, to be pregnant again. To show that I can support and grow another life.
My lost baby will never be forgotten.
And the reminders are everywhere.
And nowhere are they more powerful than in my heart.