She's just not important to most people, not relevant, they don't need to know she even existed. It doesn't matter to those who ask about my family that I have five or six children, both are big numbers, both raise an eyebrow, but the dead daughter makes people shudder, and shift uncomfortably in their shoes, so I don't always mention her.
It doesn't really matter, except it does, because each time my heart breaks. My beautiful girl, my beautiful beautiful longed for, loved little girl, and she's just not relevant, not worth mentioning.
She was 9lbs, 3 1/2 ounces, she had a little red/brown hair, and long fingers and toes just like me. She had big feet and a round tummy.I think her eyes were blue....she is so so relevant, and I love her, I miss her with every fibre of my being, and I have to keep it in, speak the right words at official meetings, not upset anyone, but I want to scream, and cry and yell.
I want to say "yes, Sid is a reserved little boy, and yes he always was, but he's thinking thinking all the time. And did you know he held his baby sister in his arms after she died? Did you know, my beautiful boy who doesn't say much came to me the other day to tell me he knew why his sister died? He wanted to go and tell the doctors, it was because her heart stopped. He thought he had the answer"
I don't say that though, I say yes he's a quiet little guy, yes his writing is coming on, and his maths too.."
And anyway I don't want to scare his lovely new young teacher with stories of dead children, I don't want her to think I'm that strange woman who relates eveything back to her dead daughter...

Tonight we are remembering...

Sarah,Beth,Oliver,Charlotte,Freddie,Hope,Cullen,Emma,Peyton,Evel,Calypso,Henry,Lucia,
Margot,Joseph,Reid,Henry,Georgina,Iris,Ava,Micah,Teddy,Sophia and Ellie,Haloumi,Silas,Emma and Chase,Aquila,Isabella,Maddy,Ferdinand,Angel Mae,George,Olivia,Hannah,Micheal and an angel,Isabelle,Ellie,Emily Grace and Chloe Anne,India and her angel siblings,Erin, Elias,Henry Suzy and Cosmo, Jacob,James,Ryan,Alice, Christian,Lesley,Harvey,Meredith and of course our beautiful Florence Violet.
and there are more, so many more, too many more...








If I've missed your baby from the list above give me a prod and I'll add them, similarly if I've included your baby and you'd rather I hadn't just mail me and I'll sort it

fur·tive/ˈfərtiv/Adjective
1. Attempting to avoid notice or attention, typically because of guilt or a belief that discovery would lead to trouble; secretive.

I don't know if this is normal amongst babyloss parents, and maybe I'll regret outing myself here,but I am guilty of furtively browsing the internet, and scrutinising photos of baby girls. I don't really go looking for them, but if I happen upon a cute photo of a little girl who might be around the same age Florence would be now, I'll look closer...I'll wonder if that little girl has longer hair than Florence would by now,would I be able to put a little bow in it? Would Florence still have that touch of red in her hair? Would her eyes be bluer than the little girl I'm looking at, her wrists chubbier?
I feel kinda guilty doing this, like I'm stealing little bits of little girls and trying to build my own, make her alive, Maybe that's how Mary Shelley (a fellow babyloss Mama) felt when she wrote Frankenstien?
I know this little excercise is futile, I can't make Florence alive again, and honestly it's not usually an enjoyable past time, it stabs at my heart,but I still do it.
Yesterday, I almost came undone because of it. I clicked on a link,a little toddler in a beautiful little dress, and little red shoes. I told myself I wanted a closer look at the dress, research you see for future pattern drafting. I clicked through several photos,looking at seam details, and wondering to myself, then it hit me, the caption, the little girl in the photo with the chubby wrists, and the bow in her hair was called Florence. I had to steady myself by holding on to my desk, as the room span and I tried to stop the tears from springing to my eyes.
Regaining my composure,I scolded myself for looking,but since that moment,I've felt so guilty, and so very stupid.
I can't conjure her up,I can't know how she would've been, I can only know what she was,but that was so brief.
I look at her photos every day, sometimes I examine every little crease on her face and fingers, and sometimes it hurts too much to look too closely.
I expect I'll always look just a little bit too long, and a little bit too longingly at girls the age she should be, and I guess it'll always sting just a little to hear her name belonging to someone else.

Florence feels distant to me lately, it's as though she's just out of sight, a glimmer of her in the corner of my eye in a sunbeam,but when I try to find her she's gone.
Maybe I'm starting to accept she is gone? Maybe I've always thought she might be coming back?
I'm not at all sure of anything, except I think this current numbness may well be temporary. I certainly hope so, because I don't want to feel this way forever, I think I prefer the constant tears to this.


A wise person said to me recently that everything I'm feeling is normal, that maybe some of my grief was put on hold while I prepared for Ernest's birth, and again while I dealt with all of his feeding issues.
I think that's certainly possible.

Life doesn't stand still though, each time I think I might be catching up with the now, dragging myself kicking and screaming from July 2009, I find that life is still moving on.
Ernest is 9 months now, he's moving on to older babyhood. He's crawling and pulling himself up, and developing a sense of humour. He loves his Daddy and puts his arms out to him as soon as he's home from work. He's just so alive and wonderful.



I was shopping in the supermarket a week ago. I'd left Woody and the older children arguing over a dessert for dinner, and gone to find shampoo, with Ernest tucked in the sling.
An elderly lady approached us, and commented on what a beautiful baby Ernest is. She asked me if he was my first, and I replied no, that he was my sixth. She asked me if I was catholic, I'm not, but she said she was, though only had one child, then she corrected herself and said she had three, but she had lost two. My heart skipped a beat, and I wanted to say I understood, and my baby was gone too, but she did what I try to do, and she moved the conversation on before I had the chance. I guess she'd had a lot more practice than me.
We chatted for a while, and as we parted she said how much she'd enjoyed chatting, and that Ernest was far too much of an old fashioned name for such a beautiful baby.
I know I'll almost probably never see her again, I know it was just a random polite chat in the supermarket, but I feel guilty that I didn't validate her lost children, I didn't even say I was sorry.
I told her, I'd enjoyed our chat too, and I hoped she'd have a nice evening. I hope she did.

And this is how it is, a million small things,but there's no happy ending, no neatly tied up package. I think maybe I've been waiting for a time when all the grief is done and I'm just accepting.
She's been gone 21 months, and I'm still struggling with forever.
I'll always grieve, maybe sometimes harder than others, maybe accepting that is what I need to do.




I've been archiving all my posts about Florence, slowly going through them. I want to protect those thoughts, put them somewhere safe. I want to put Florence somewhere safe, a pocket inside my heart.

Like many babyloss mamas who blog I feel like a stuck record. Going through my older posts I realise I've repeated myself even more than I suspected I had. I don't know how much longer I can go on doing that here in this space, and still feel I'm keeping Florence safe.

My recent experiences have taught me, that outside of my bubble, actually the *vast majority don't give a shit, and want me to STFU already. To most people Florence was not a person, but "just a baby", and I'm all cured now having Ernest here.
Some people might even think I'm not grateful for what I do have, that I'm wallowing...it has been suggested.

I'm not going to remove my posts from this blog, I'm just putting them somewhere safe too, and pondering what to do next.





*I'm very aware that some of what I'm saying here might hurt and upset those of you reading that do give a shit, and do understand, that's not my intention at all. You are not included in that "vast majority".

Maybe sharing this letter here is not my wisest decision yet, frankly I'm so angry and upset right now, I don't care.
It's been a shitty day.

A letter to my gp:


Dear Dr T
I would like to thank you for your understanding when I came to the surgery a few weeks ago to discuss how difficult I was finding life after the sudden death of my daughter Florence in July 2009.
I'm sure you appreciate just how difficult it was for me to admit I was having problems coping emotionally.
I was relieved when you suggested counselling, and very much hoped being able to talk to someone outside of my family and close friends would be beneficial.
I remember at that appointment telling you I would only be able to attend daytime appointments if my youngest son (8 months old) would be welcome too. I honestly did not expect it to be a problem. He is still a babe in arms, safe in my sling,and feeding or sleeping. I am rarely without him, and after losing my daughter, I find even the thought of leaving him with anyone other than my husband, far too stressful.
My husband was able to take some time off work last week, and so for my first counselling session I was able to leave Ernest with him. When I explained to the counsellor that I would be bringing Ernest to future appointments, she did say it might be an issue, since the appointments were “about you”, but firmly believing that babies under one should be with their mothers as much as possible, I assured her it would not be a problem for me to have Ernest present.
I simply do not have anyone who could take care of Ernest anyway. My family lives in Birmingham, my mother in law in Wales, and my father in law is currently recovering from a hip replacement. The only friend available during the day who could take care of him, (because he knows her well.) lives a 20 minute car journey away and is currently taking pain medication which means she can't drive.
Today I came along to my second appointment, with Ernest happily snug in my sling. I was nervous, I hadn't particularly found the first session helpful, and had some small misgivings about the counsellor I was trying to not focus on.
After taking me upstairs to the counselling room, the counsellor began to explain to me that she couldn't see me with Ernest present, as it was “inadvisable”, and “against surgery rules”. (something I'm frankly baffled by, since over the years I've had several of my children present, as babies for various procedures including a cervical smear.)
I was confused, and I think my first reaction was to say that in that case I couldn't come. My perception was that the counsellor was quite confrontational. I'm not sure what reaction she expected from me, but I was feeling particularly vulnerable.
She suggested I go back on the waiting list for an evening appointment, but first asked me if I even wanted to continue with counselling.
I left the surgery in a hurry, with my head spinning, and trying very hard not to cry.
The counsellor said she had decided to wait to tell me she couldn't see me with Ernest present, rather than telephone me, which I find a curious choice, since it would've been far easier for me not to have to come to the surgery to hear her decision.
As I explained to you at my appointment, Ernest has had some feeding difficulties, and I am exclusively pumping breast milk for him. To accommodate a 12 o'clock appointment, I had to re arrange my pumping schedule, make sure Ernest was fed, and then walk for 20 minutes to get to the surgery. Incidentally I had that same 20 minute walk home, all the time trying not to sob in the street.
I'm left now with a feeling of deep disappointment, and a mistrust of counselling. I'm sorry I confided some of my story in this particular counsellor at my first session.
I'm proud of my daughter Florence, and will do whatever I can to protect her memory, and the tiny bit I have of her.
For this reason I'm now sorry I came to you for help, and I would like to cancel the appointment I had with you to follow up.

For some months now I've been avoiding something, I've skirted around the issue, dipped my toes in the water, but hastily withdrawn again.

There is a fine line between grief and depression, I know from experience. My Dad died suddenly in his early forties while my brothers and I were at school.I was a month off my 18th birthday, my brothers were 16 and 15. My Mum was widowed at 35. None of us coped terribly well, but that's a whole other story.

I remember sitting in the hospital after Florence died, holding her in my arms and telling Woody I couldn't do grief again. I don't know if he remembers that or not.

For some months now I've been stepping carefully along that fine line, keeping, or so I thought, just this side of depression.

After Ernest was born, and I met our health visitor for the first time, before anyone had a chance to brief her on our history. I explained about Florence, ignored the head tilt, and tried to ignore the little alarm bells going off in her head. I vehemently denied I was a candidate for post natal depression. I had PND with Eden, I knew what it was, and it wasn't the same as grief. I reassured her, I would know if I was depressed, and I thought I would.

Am I now? I don't know.

I'm physically and emotionally exhausted, but show me a Mum of a baby that isn't?

I'm managing my anxiety better, the flashbacks are less frequent.

My house is as clean as you might expect, the children, are fed, and clean, and loved.

I shower, put on make up, blow dry my hair.

I make things.

To a casual observer I'm fine, I even smile and laugh, make eye contact and small talk....


....but inside I'm hollow, and I cry. I cry every day. Sometimes silent weeping, sometimes howling breathless sobbing. Mostly I cry in secret, when Woody is at work and the big ones are at school. I cry when I'm busy, and when I'm still...is that normal?

I admitted my secret crying to Woody the other day, a first step maybe? a first step to what though? Getting better? I'll never be better, I don't want to be. I have so very little of Florence, that this pain sometimes feels like the only connection.

I suppose I know I need to seek some professional help, but I'm not quite brave enough yet. I'm so terribly afraid of a diagnosis. I don't want to hear "post natal depression" , it seems too trivial to fit (And i know PND is not trivial at all, I've been there.). I want to hear "heartbroken", because that's what I am, even that phrase I hate so much, mentioned by my lovely friend in the early days, "complicated grief" would suit me better. (sorry K, you know I love you.)

But you see, I'm fine really. I'm crying now, but I'll dry my tears,re apply my mascara and head out to school. I'll smile and wave at the lollipop lady, I'll buy treats on the way home, then come home and hoover the floor, do the laundry...I'm fine.

But the simple truth? I miss her.x

I don't want to steal your baby, I have never wanted to steal any one's baby. My daughter is not replaceable, she died in my arms, and all I've ever wanted is her.
Of all the many baby loss parents I have met in real life and over the web, I have never known any of them crave anything more than to hold their own baby.
In fact, for many many of us bereaved parents the thought of holding or even sometimes just seeing and hearing any other babies is terrifying.

And so, writers of a certain dreary soap opera, thank you. Thank you for perpetuating the myth of the crazed bereaved mother, for keeping baby death the taboo it already is, and for causing parents already suffering more than you clearly can understand, more heartache.

No, I don't watch your horrible programme, but I live in a world where millions do, and I have to stand in the school playground, the supermarket, at toddler groups, I listen to the radio, I watch tv, and I read parenting forums, all discussing this plot line. All drawing their own conclusions based on misinformation.

I just hope you never have to suffer the pain of burying your child.

I'm feeling sad, I know I'm always going to feel sad, even when I'm happy. I know that's my life now and forever. I accept that.
I knew having another baby wasn't going to fix everything, I knew it was going to be hard. I've always known Ernest was never going to be Florence.They are two very seperate little people, and having Ernest here reminds me every day of everything I didn't know about Florence, everything I will never know.
I still feel such guilt and shame that Florence died, that somehow I let her down. I know logically that's not true, but I feel it. She grew inside me, I birthed her, and that's just how I feel.
Then there is the guilt that Ernest was birthed too soon, that because no one could guarantee he'd be born healthy if he went to term that it was safer to evict him three weeks early. That being early meant his jaundice was so bad and that he's struggled with breastfeeding.
He's gaining weight now, I can see him filling out, growing out of his first clothes, but that doesn't stop my mind occasionally wandering off. I catch myself wondering what clothes we'd bury him in if we had to, which toy we'd choose to put in his coffin....I guess that's normal for a babylost parent?
I've had moments where I've been convinced that Mother Nature/the universe/whatever was trying to take him away, why else would he be struggling so with breastfeeding?
I think I sound like a crazy lady. I met my health visitor a week or so ago, and she has that head tilt and look in her eyes like she thinks I'm crazy too, and I'm even careful what I say to her.
Maybe I sound ungrateful. I'm not, I'm very aware of just how lucky we are to have Ernest. He is a joy.
I'm just so scared for him. I'm not alone either. I wake up sometimes and Woody is leaning over Ernest and I, "just checking". Even the children worry. They ask questions I'm certain children who haven't cradled their dead sister in their arms don't ask.
I hold Ernest in my arms, or in the sling and I breath in his delicious scent, as deep as I can, trying to hold onto it. Florence never had time to smell so divine. I tried to smell her,but she was gone.
I can imagine the non babylost reading this and thinking poor Ernest is in the shadow of his dead sister. I guess he is, and will always be. There will always be his birthday followed by hers.This time of year will always be full of ghosts. I will always be sad. Ernest will only know the bereaved me, not the Mummy I was before.
I hope he'll always know just how precious he is to all of us though. I hope he'll know how special he is, and how loved he is for him.

I've been holding back for so long now, and there's still no time or space for my tears. I've got to pull myself together and get on with the task in hand. Just as the tears start to flow I stop them.
I had to seperate Florence away, put her in a little cosy corner of my mind, while I dealt with the physicality of being induced and giving birth. I allowed myself one weakness as Ernest was crowning, and cried out for him, "Come on Baby!".
He arrived and I was in shock, I didn't sleep for two days afraid he'd be gone any second.
Then, before I could start to breath again we were in hospital on her day, no space for tears, Ernest needed me strong.
Another hospital stay, more blood tests, bloody breastfeeding shit, pumping and bottles and just well shit, but I still can't cry. I can't scream and shout and smash things up because I've got to be bloody brave (I hate that word!)and I've got to get through all this, and I will too, I have to.
I just need to stamp my feet a little, let it out just a little then put the lid on as tight as I can.
I just want to breastfeed, and maybe then I can cry for what can never be. x

We've been in Scotland for the past five days. We stayed in a cabin on the shores of Loch Lubnaig.
We almost had to cancel our trip after Woody, the boys and myself all came down with a violent stomach bug on Saturday night. We were fit to travel by Monday morning though, and with fingers crossed that the girls had escaped the bug we headed off.
I had a few little wobbles about being so far away from home, and more specifically away from my local hospital, my consultant and my midwife, and a bigger wobble when on Tuesday morning I blacked out for a second in the car. I'm certain it was only the remains of the bug plus a little low blood pressure. It didn't happen again.
Despite my wobbles and slight worries, it was good to get away. Of course I always feel I've abandoned Florence.
I bought lots of trinkets to decorate her grave, souvenirs from a holiday she could never go on. I'll take them to her today.
I also bought a little tweed rabbit for baby boy. I fell in love with tweed while away and have a million ideas in my head for a winter wardrobe and a few other things all made from beautiful tweed. I'm always relieved to know I can still be inspired, sometimes I think my brain is so weary from grief and from pregnancy after loss that there is no room left for creativity, but I have a page in one of my notebooks full of "Scottish inspiration" , and perhaps even some plans to keep me busy over the next few weeks until baby boy arrives...and he's going to arrive, and I have to, and I do believe he's going to be well, especially since I've just sent Woody off to collect a stupidly expensive,but beautiful pram to push him around in. (I was brave and talked prams over the phone with a salesman, and didn't cry even when he suggested I pay a deposit for it now and collect it after the baby was born...maybe he has experience of dead baby returns...who knows.)

And I think I'm finally starting to think of myself as really pregnant, which if you could see the size of me might sound slightly crazy.
Baby boy is big, currently estimated at 3lbs 6oz, I know those estimates are not terribly reliable, but he feels about that. And he's still a he. I double checked yesterday at my scan.The sonographer was very patient with my paranoid questions.
I also saw my consultant yesterday, and we are on track to induce sometime after 37 weeks, so hey maybe I've only another 7 weeks to go...we'll see.
I'm still telling everyone 10, and telling myself the same, while focusing on getting through the next minute,hour,or day depending on how emotional I am at the time, and these days I'm very emotional.

My consultant is a very lovely man, and yesterday in the process of explaining something to me he used an example of a woman who had two babies die. Now my logical brain understood the whole of what he was telling me, but my crazy babylost brain just picked out "again" it happened "again" and that word has been whirring around in my head ever since.

I've tried not to imagine baby boy in my arms,but sometimes I admit I do, just for a second.
I don't have the same feelings I had when I was pregnant with Florence, I do believe he'll make it, but then I know like any other babylost parent does that it can happen.

I often have that old Smiths song in my head, just begging the universe to please please please...

Baby boy is due exactly two weeks after Florence was born,so many events,birthdays,holidays,etc are running parallel and sometimes it's really hard.
Today was Sports day for Sid. Thankfully, the venue had changed,I really don't think I could've gone had it been held as usual in the vicarage garden, too many memories of excited conversations looking forward to birthing Florence.
This morning I found a spot to put down my picnic rug and sat quietly waiting for the children to arrive, and yes trying really hard not to cry. I watched babies that were born last summer crawl off with tired parents chasing after them, and couldn't imagine Florence ten months old and doing the same.
Just when I thought I might leave early a friendly voice said "there you are". A lovely friend came and sat with me, and we chatted, and despite still feeling kinda shakey inside I knew with her there I could stay.
Only two more sports days this week, maybe now I've done one,I'll cope better at the next two.

I think I may have just invented a living Florence. Waddling home from school in the heat, a Mum I don't know,but whose daughter is in Sid's class asked me if this baby was my third.(I had Angus and Sid with me). I replied that no, it was my sixth, and she was totally gobsmacked, exclaiming loudly to her daughter and husband that I was expecting my sixth baby.
Then she looked at my large bump and asked when I was due, cue more exclamations at my size and how much bigger I'm going to get by August. (sigh)
By now I was trying to avoid her,but she lives on the next street to me, and we were going the same way.
"Do you know what you are having?" She asked.
"Yes a boy" says me
"Oh, well I guess you have some girls too?"
"Yes" and I start to shake, and glance over at my friend who has now caught up with us.
We cross the road and I scurry away feeling like shit, and leaving her with the impression I have five living children, and no doubt next time I see her I'll have to pop her bubble and tell her one of them is infact dead.
Shit shit shit!!!

Another quick knit. I love this yarn, it's Jacob Sheep yarn, so the colour is the colour of the sheep, and it smells so divinely woolly.

Well meaning people keep asking me every day how I am. I'm not sure what reply they want to hear.
When I tell them that physically everything is fine, they look relieved, and I say quietly in my head "but everything was fine with Florence". I think most people still don't get that. In fact I know some people think that having her at home somehow caused her death. No one wants to think that sometimes babies just die and no one knows why.
People are reassured when I tell them I have a consultant, and I'm going to hospital this time, they just don't get it.
Sid's teacher asked me yesterday if I was having a c section this time. While it's a possibility, my consultant has already stated quite clearly that had Florence been born by c section, she still would have died.

Physically I am fine, and as far as we know so is baby boy. Inside my head though, well that's quite a different story. Sometimes I wish I was like Worzel Gummidge, and could take off this head,swap it with another for a while, just for a break.

Can't do that though, so I'll just keep on keeping on, and even though I cried while sewing the buttons on this little vest,I'll just keep on hoping baby boy gets to wear it, and wishing Florence were here to get under my feet and stop me having so much time to knit.

Today's piece on Still Life 365 is a community poem. Please take a look it's a powerful piece.x

Oh how I wish that were possible. Some time out from grief and from worry. Death just doesn't let you take a break.

While I was pregnant with Florence I practiced postive visualisations, I listened to hypnobirthing cd's, and I knew how her birth would be...it was exactly as I'd visualised, in almost every detail. I just forgot to visualise a baby that would live.

I do try to be positive now, but after every positive thought, there is the "if he lives" tag line. I hate myself for it, but sometimes I think I just have to acknowledge those thoughts then let those thoughts go, try not to hold on to them.

I can't visualise baby boy's birth, because I don't know how it will be yet. There are questions over c sections, inductions, swabs, iv antibiotics. All I do know is it will be in my local hospital, my mw has promised to be there, my lovely consultant will be there and Florence's pead will be on alert.

Sometimes I catch myself daydreaming about holding baby boy in my arms, carrying him in a sling, but I stop myself fairly abruptly, because what if....

It's funny the things I can do to prepare, and the things I can't. I figure whatever feels right is right.
I can sew and knit for him, but only those first sizes. I can, and have started to pack a bag for the hospital...though not his things, not yet.
I can't order a new car seat, I can't pull out the crib,and the baby bath, the pram and all that stuff. I can't sort through the teetering pile of slings and hang the wraps ready on the door.
There's one maternity dress I wore last year that I can wear, but many more hung forlorn in the wardrobe that I just can't put on.

I just need a break from this grief and this worry. I just wish I could join in the normal pregnant Mama chatter, that I didn't flinch everytime someone glances at my bump, or have to stop myself from cradling my bump in public.

The other day while waiting at the pedestrian crossing I saw someone I vaguely know glancing sideways at my bump. I braced myself, but also reminded myself of this sketch from an old tv show, and had an internal giggle. This either proves I still have a sense of humour or else I've truly lost the plot completely!

Florence would be nine months old today, somehow that feels significant, and according to the work of anthropologist Ashley Montagu certainly is, at least for a living baby.

Sometimes I catch myself thinking "Oh that would look so cute on Florence", when I see outfits made by other bloggers, or when I'm browsing patterns. It's only a second or two, and then I remember.

There are times when I still can't quite believe what happened.

There are also times when I hear stories of child neglect and abuse, and I wonder why? Why did my much loved baby die?

How has nine months gone by? How am I still here, still functioning?

There are those moments of clarity when I realise forever is forever.x

While getting Sid ready for school, I mentioned how wriggly baby boy had been during the night.

"But he wont wriggle when he's born" Said Sid.

"I expect he will, and you can hold him."

"He might die, and then he wont wriggle"

"We hope he wont die, we hope he'll be fine"

"Florence died. Why did Florence die the day she was born?"

"We don't know sweetheart."

"Dead babies go to the cemetery. If our baby dies he will go to the cemetery with Florence"

I guess, he just doesn't know any different.

I made this little cardigan from a cardigan of my own that I accidentally spoiled with paint. It's a nice soft, well worn in cashmere mix, so I decided to recycle it for baby boy. I used my smock pattern pieces for the bodice and the sleeves, and bound the neck edge with the left over neck edge from the original cardy. I also made casings at the sleeve edge for elastic, and used a hook and eye for closure.
Only the shoulder and side seams were sewn by machine, everything else was sewn by hand, which I think looks better, and was actually very therapeutic.
This week has been rough emotionally, starting with my birthday, and ending with the sad news of baby Freddie. I've been crying in public again, and the flashbacks are more frequent.
Yesterday it was warm, I risked removing my coat on the school run, but held it protectively over my bump. I was walking with a good friend, but then saw heading towards me a lady I just did not want to talk to. She's a nice person, but just, well, just a little odd, and tactless. My friend also spotted her, and I think our sudden "deep conversation", plus my expert "FO vibes" headed her off...phew!
Today, the sun is shining, I can hear next door's little girl bouncing on her trampoline, and Eden singing...some days there is nothing to do but focus on the good stuff and keep those demons at bay. x

Please, no more dead babies! I heard this morning of another baby gone too soon. Another baby born peacefully, loved and wanted and taken. I can't stand it. I can't stand thinking of another family going through this shit.
Enough!

My thoughts and love are with Freddie and his beautiful family.