The sun is shining, it's a lovely bright unseasonably warm Autumn day, but with that crisp chill in the air. Ernest napped this morning while I pegged out the washing and cried.Sometimes,crying has to fit in around everything else.
Today should be yoga day, but I changed my plans at the last minute and had lunch with Woody's Mum instead.

Life around here is a hard slog most days. The entire family's routine revolves around my pumping schedule. I long for Ernest to be breastfeeding properly, and haven't given up all hope yet. Although I'm all too well aware that we may never have the breastfeeding relationship I enjoyed with the older children. Something I'm probably going to take a very long time to truly accept.

Maybe it's the tiredness, or maybe the hormones, but mostly lately I'm pretty sick of myself.I'm sick of being sad,of the constant drone in my head of how "it's just not fair".

I'm surprised I have any friends left. I'm not a good friend to anyone anymore.

India took a photo of me at the weekend, and I look tired, sad, maybe even defeated. I know there's not much fight left in me, maybe just enough, I hope so, what other choice is there?

Twenty one years ago almost to the day I moved up north and started college in a town I'd only heard of a week earlier. I thought Stockport might be by the sea, but checking on the map told me otherwise.
My first day at college and the first person I met was Jo. I'd started the course later than everyone else, friendships had already been formed, and everyone was already working on their first project.
Jo nervously showed me her sketchbook and talked me through the brief to design blown vinyl wallpaper. I think at that point we both wondered what the hell we were doing at art college designing something so bloody awful.
I knew immediately that Jo and I were going to be friends forever.
Jo, now lives far far away, I only see her, her hubby and her gorgeous little girl once a year, and this year she got to meet Ernest. This music box was a gift from Jo, and Ernest loves it.

Ernest and I are very popular lately. We have visitors most days. I think everyone is just so relieved he's here safe. I guess things will settle down soon. At least having lots of visitors stops me just sitting and thinking...not that Ernest gives me huge amounts of thinking time. Sometimes, even the "dead baby dead baby dead baby" monologue stops for a while when I'm having tea with friends, sometimes the "failed breastfeeding" monolgue briefly pushes out the "dead baby " one.

I'm running out of words lately. I have so much to say,but I can't form any of my thoughts into anything coherant. No words I can conjure up seem to do Florence or Ernest, or my parenting of them both alongside the big ones any justice.

There is a lady who lives on my road , we would say good morning when she walked her dog and I walked the children to school. Last year shortly after Florence was born, I was leaving the house and she shouted over to ask about the baby. I had to tell her Florence had died.She went quiet and said "it happened to me". I could see she was very upset.
Later that day she brought me a huge bunch of sunflowers and told me I could talk to her any time. Her first daughter died 22 years ago.
I saw her the other day, and she admired Ernest. She said "it does make it easier doesn't it?" and I thought for a moment. It does, of course it does. It would be so much worse without him,but I miss her, I ache for her.

And really, that might be all there is to be said.

I've commented before how it's bittersweet to pull out clothes made for Florence and dress Ernest in them. This outfit was made while pregnant with Florence, for her to wear to my best friends wedding.I've kept the outfit wrapped carefully along with the matching bootees and bonnet, not quite sure what to do with them.
Yesterday's funeral seemed to be the appropriate time to dress Ernest in them. The bootess didn't fit, and the bonnet was a bit much, so they are both tucked away in Florence's memory box, while this outfit will eventually go into Ernest's. (All my children have memory boxes) It seems appropriate that they get to share.


This pair of Saartje bootees went well instead.



Oh, and we wore this sling.

Attempting to double pump in a busy Little Chef car park is never going to be very conducive to milk collection, but pumping with a view like this one is much nicer.
Today has been very tiring. A three hour journey to Wales, a crying baby in a packed church,rocking baby outside in the wind (after falling down the church step), being accosted (hugged and kissed) by some random elderly welsh guy with dubious personal hygeine, then taking grumpy baby to a crowded hotel bar, till he cries and once again we find ourselves outside in the cold.Then another long drive home.
I'm in my jammies now, too tired to eat, I just need another big cup of tea and a snuggle with my family.
I think the funeral went well, I pretty much missed it. I know I've never seen so many catholic priests in one place all at once.x

Just wanting to share Ernest's fist back carry.

I've been thinking. Woody always says I think too much, he's probably right. This week I've thought about some things so much my brain hurts.
We have a funeral to go to on Friday, and even with all this thinking I still don't know how I feel about that. I can't say much more on the subject either for fear of hurting people I really do care for.

****
Ernest and I had another pyjama day yesterday, all in the hope of teaching him to nurse from the breast, it's a slow slow process, but I think we might be getting somewhere....
And even if we are not, a day in bed with my little guy, some choccy biscuits, lots of tea and some knitting, what better way is there to spend a Saturday?

This one was made when I was pregnant with Florence.
Ernest is snoozing in it right now, and I know sensibly I should join him for forty winks, especially since I've been awake since 4am.
I've lost count of the people this week who have asked me if he's a "good baby" or if he's "sleeping through". I never know quite what to say.I usually just mutter something about not expecting an eight week old baby to be sleeping much at all at night.
I don't say what I'm thinking, which is that a years worth of insomnia and nights filled with terrifying flashbacks have prepared me pretty well for sleepless nights with a baby.
Actually, the exhaustion of looking after baby, and of course having him living breathing in my arms have stopped a lot of the middle of the night flashbacks.
These days, I get unexpected little snapshots instead. Sometimes it's his feet, I'm instantly transported back, unwrapping Florence's legs, desperate to see all of her. Or a glint of blue eyes, and there she is on the table, a hint of blue peeking out before the morphine shut them tight again.
Ernest is so very definitely not Florence. He doesn't look like her, not really, he looks like her brother.

I think I find myself wondering how much longer everyone will tolerate my constant referrals to Florence. I've noticed others who have trodden this path with their rainbow babies wondering the same. A year and a new baby, maybe I should just shut up, be more discreet with my grief, just stop going on, keep it in?

We've had an exhausting week, back to school for the big ones, and the beginning of our new routine including visits to the cranial osteopath and to mum and baby yoga. Lots of bus journeys and lots of walking, all fitted in around the call of the breastpump.
We are now drowning in lovely breastmilk, no more formula! The next task is persuading Ernest to drink from the source, that's hopefully where the cranial osteopath can help out.
Meanwhile, Ernest grows, and has to put up with his Mummy taking photos of almost every outfit he wears. Here he is in his Blue Dahlia Stripe (organic cotton) sleepsuit.

Ernest had his first visit to a cranial osteopath today, and his first ride on a bus!
He was telling Daddy all about it when we got home.

A year ago, floudering and stumbling around the internet trying to focus through tears I came across others, others like me. I clung to their words, these other mothers (and fathers) who were further along, their words resonated, and they gave me hope, they were surviving, if they could then maybe I could too?
I looked up to them, wanting to fast forward my life, to see that I would be ok, that we would all be ok.

A year on, and I am surviving, it is possible, but it never stops hurting for any of us no matter how much time elapses, we just find a home for the pain, we co exist.

Something that I realised early on, but that becomes more and more clear is that forever is forever, and ever, and always.

I'm broken hearted each time I read another new blog, another broken hearted parent, floundering just as I did, another baby cold in their grave, another forever.

I wish I could make it better for all of us...my feeble wish against the might of the universe.

Swishing pink ruffles,
A million tiny ballerinas dancing along the hem.
Patent shoes skipping,
Pony tail bobbing.

Mesmerised for a moment,
Another snapshot of a future that will never be.

The little cardigan I started knitting when I was in labour is now finished, but only just fits.
Ernest is 9lbs 12oz now, and growing out of things before he has a chance to wear them!
This vest will get a few more wears at least.

Our day at Grandma's went pretty well really, I can now add a list of places I've got my boobs out to pump to my list of places I've got my boobs out to breastfeed over the past fourteen years!
We had a fun time at Beaumaris Castle, trying to take a family shot was, as always not so easy....





This one is about the best. (note small child stategically placed in front of my post partum belly!)



After trying and failing to take a good shot of Woody with the children, I turned around to see an older couple watching us. I couldn't help but wonder what they saw, a large unruly brood, a family having fun? Certainly not the child that's missing.

I'm a broken record, I know, but every day it hurts, we have fun, a nice day out, some laughs, but it's always there.

There was an historical re enactment group at the castle, and the most gorgeous baby girl, toddler really, about a year old. Just the cutest little thing, riding around in a cart dressed in historical costume, and babbling, just lovely...

Last of the pic spam for today at least!
Ernest asleep in his fave place, and look , he has Florence grasped in his little hand.

We are being brave and planning a day out at Grandmas tomorrow. I've just packed a bag for Ernest,and just need to test the batteries for my mini pump. Our first day out with him, and our first day out with bottles for a baby..oh for the convenience of simply breastfeeding....

Please keep everything crossed for us, send us happy pumping/feeding vibes and easy journey with no traffic jams...bank holiday and travelling to the coast...hmmm I can hope can't I?

Six weeks already.

I do love a baby kitted out in yummy woolliness. It's bittersweet pulling out things I knitted when pregnant with Florence and then dressing Ernest in them, but oooh he's just so snuggable in these soft wool longies and cardigan.
Making use of the bedside crib for a change too.



For anyone interested both patterns are Elizabeth Zimmermann, the yarn Debbie Bliss Baby Cashmerino.

The silly little things that can reduce me to racking sobs, like the Camerons naming their new baby girl Florence.

Funny, because yesterday Eden had a massive strop because someone on TV suggested they might call her Eden. I wish they had.

Eden heard me crying and came to give me a big hug.

The Cameron's know what it is to lose a child, and I'm glad they have their new baby Florence safe and well.

The newborn fog is clearing slowly, gradually being replaced by a sleepy haze, but that I think I can live with for a while anyway.
Ernest likes to sleep for about an hour,then wake for an hour throughout the night. That wouldn't be so hard going if he'd mastered breastfeeding, but when he wakes I have to pass him to Woody (who is not used to being woken at night by a baby) to feed him, while I pump for the next feed.(If only I had an extra pair of hands)
Ernest prefers me to feed him (with the bottle.) and so after pumping, he's passed back to me to finish the feed. I'll attempt to breastfeed (ever hopeful), then there's a nappy change, possibly another feed, a cuddle, and finally sleep, if we are very lucky a dream (breast) feed.
Our days too revolve around my pumping schedule..every two hours for about five to ten minutes.
The good news is,that I am very almost caught up with the whole "supply and demand" thing, and over the past two days Ernest has only had 30ml of the evil cow stuff.*
I could probably rant on and on about how thouroughly shitty it is not breastfeeding, (and I know Ernest is getting my milk, but I don't feel like I'm breastfeeding) and I expect it's a theme I'll be returning to lots, but for now let me just say that it breaks my heart when I'm feeding him from a bottle and I get a let down reflex.
Still, as Woody reminded me (not that I really needed reminding anyway) just a few short weeks ago I wasn't even sure Ernest would be here in my arms, and if I have to pump and feed him my milk that way that's just what I have to do.
I remember this time last year bargaining with the Universe, asking for Florence "Even if I've missed the first four weeks of her life", "Even if I can't breastfeed". I'd have had her back, and I still would.
The breastfeeding thing is still shit though, really really shit.

Oh yes, and the carrot flowers? With all the chaos of the past five weeks our carrots, and our salad all bolted,the slugs ate most of my flowers and the lawn is knee high!

* I don't use this term to offend any formula feeders out there, it's just my personal opinion.

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.