Rachael

I still can't quite believe it's true - this baby is alive! A little girl. My little girl. An overwhelming, over powering love consumes me - and at the same time there is such sadness and confusion. Mostly confusion. My little girl.

Such a long, long pregnancy - like all the others, I loved you each and every day you grew inside me. I hoped, yet I didn't dare hope. I prayed 'let this one live' and I asked of your brothers/sisters - Jasmine, Ashley and Aidan - I asked them to protect you always but to please, please let Mummy and Daddy have you here with us this time.

Such a long, long pregnancy - I adore being pregnant. I adored feeling you move inside me and I thank God that when I first felt you kick, you kicked each and every day that followed. So much fear, so much anxiety - I was so afraid of hurting you that I tried to suppress all that, so it just bubbled away below the surface. One of your brother's/sister's anniversaries would come up and I would try so hard not to get too upset - I didn't want to hurt you, yet I needed to mourn them. There should have been others here with me to help welcome your birth (and yet your brothers and sisters are always with me, with us.)

Such a long, long pregnancy - living hour by hour, day by day. Half preparing myself for when you would die (after all, all my other babies died), desperately willing you to live. Stay with me baby for just another day, then another, and another. Each day, each week brought us closer to seeing you, closer to having you. We got past 7 1/2 weeks when I lost Ashley, we got past 13 1/2 weeks when I lost Aidan and we got past 19 weeks when I lost Jasmine. At 20 weeks we had cake and candles - if I lost you now, at least you would be recognised as a baby by the world, even the doctors started treating you differently. So sad, when to us (like the others) you had been our little child since conception. So sad, that others missed the early part of your life.

When you were 18 weeks old within me I bought you some nappies, clothes and your very first teddy bear. 'Do you really think that was wise?' some asked (after all, why waste all that money and it's only more stuff that you'll have to pack away if the baby dies, dear.) But I never got the chance to do it with the others and this time, this time I wanted to have some FUN. I wanted to know what it was like to be a 'normal' pregnant woman. Just for a couple of hours. And it was fun.
"You'll be right now, you're over x weeks - nothing could possibly go wrong this time. Think positive." Think positive. Jump on your head. If thinking positive was the magical answer, I would have three other living children. How I loathed "think positive" and chose instead to "think realistically". Sometimes babies die at 7, 13, and 19 weeks - but sometimes babies die 28, 32 and 40 weeks also. There is no 100% guaranteed safe time. That is my reality. You can only do the best you can and hope. And pray.

"You can push now Tania." Push. I will see my baby soon. Push. I don't want to. I don't want to have come this far and suddenly be told there's something wrong - (Sorry Tania, the baby's dead). Push. Push. Oh it hurts, I want her out, I want to see my baby. "It's a girl." A girl. And she's crying, she's alive. "Are you sure?" Yes we're sure. She's alive. My little girl. I never thought I'd have another girl. I never thought I'd have another baby. Overwhelming joy - but where has my big belly gone? Is this baby REALLY mine? (Yes, I know I pushed her out, but is she really mine?) Living hour by hour, day by day - I forgot about the future. No, I didn't forget - I just didn't dare imagine a future (with this baby). I lived in the present. My goal was to get pregnant, be pregnant, stay pregnant and keep pregnant. I 'forgot' that in the end I could actually HAVE this baby.

But where are you taking her? (I knew it was too good to be true, she was going to be taken from me after all.) Yes I know she's 4 weeks premature, are you sure she only needs a little oxygen? Once again, I've given birth and I lie in my hospital bed and everyone else has their baby - except me. Yes I know she's in a humidicrib and I know she'll be all right, but part of me lies in wait, waiting for God to take her, 'preparing' myself just in case she dies (after all, all my other babies died), waiting for that little voice inside to say 'see I told you so". Waiting. But she's alive, she's my little girl and I get to take her home. She gets to wear her little clothes, sleep in her bassinet and cuddle her teddy bear.

Such joy, such overwhelming love, such protectiveness of this tiny life. And sadness. Sadness because she brings home to me what I have REALLY lost with my other three babies. They will never wear these clothes, I will never give them teddy bears. I will never know their smile. And guilt. Guilt. Her name is Rachael, and I know her name is Rachael, but my brain keeps calling her Jasmine. (Jasmine, our first child, was the only one whose sex we knew.) It's as though through Rachael, I finally have the chance to look after ALL of my children - to feed them, to clothe them, to hold them snuggled to my breast. And keep them safe. I know she's not Jasmine. Jasmine's dead. Ashley's dead. Aidan's dead. No one can replace them. They were all individuals. Rachael is an individual.

Guilt. It's Aidan's first anniversary. There is much sadness in Aidan's death. But there is thankfulness in our precious gift of Rachael - if my other three children hadn't died, there wouldn't be a Rachael. But there is bitterness and self pity - if my other three children hadn't died, there wouldn't be a Rachael. So confusing. I love her, yet resent her. So confusing. There wasn't supposed to be a Rachael because I wasn't supposed to have lost three children. So confusing. I love her intensely. There IS supposed to be a Rachael (after all, she's here), it's just that I want to have her and all the others too. Yes, I admit, I did not like her for a little while that day, and I felt terrible. But I needed to feel like that - it's part of adjusting to my new life, part of accepting my past. I needed to recognise how I felt, so that I could let go of the guilt, and move on. I don't want to have the prerequisites to be a member of SANDS - but I do. And I love Rachael. And I love all my children.
Little Rachael, I hope that I will be (and have already been) an good mother to you. We have much to learn from each other. Your brothers/sisters taught me so much of life and love, of joy and sadness, of how fragile life is and how to love what you have while you have it. I will always love and mourn them. I wonder at what you have come to teach me - yet you have already taught me so much. You have shown me the miracle of life, the beauty in a smile and the warmth of unconditional love.

You have shown me the way to heal. In having you, I found me.

Tania - reprinted from SANDS (ACT) Newsletter #18