When all we had was hope.
When we had everything to look forward to.
I remember Martin cooking me my favourite meals and not minding when I could manage only a token mouthful, thanks to my all-day-and-all-night nausea.
I remember spending hours reading about pregnancy.
I remember feeling so excited about what every pregnancy stage brings.
I remember the excitement about wondering what my baby would look like, who they would take after, what they would be interested in, what they would like to play with.
I remember looking forward to playing with my baby, watching them grow up.
I remember shopping for maternity clothes, showing off my growing bump, so proud.
I remember shopping for them in the post-Christmas sales, grabbing bargains, transition clothes that would last me until my baby’s birth in June and beyond, while breastfeeding and losing the baby weight.
I didn’t get to wear those clothes for as long as I had hoped.
I remember having things to look forward to.
I remember being more in control of my mind, my emotions.
I remember when I would leap at the chance to cuddle someone else’s baby.
I remember the blissful ignorance of not knowing about HELLP syndrome, that pregnancy can kill you, that bad things happen not only to other people but to you, too.
I remember Hugo kicking me, and punching me inside my tummy. I miss those wonderful moments.
I remember the feeling of Hugo’s skin against mine.
I remember his strong grip on my finger.
I remember watching him open his eyes, so proud.
I remember him kicking his arms and legs.
I remember him boogying to my singing.
I miss my boy. I miss him so, so much.
I miss the blissful ignorance of not knowing what it means to have your heart shattered, of having to cuddle your baby as they breathe their last, of having to leave them behind in hospital. Of having only memories, a legacy to nurture.
I do not want to remember anything else that happened, right now.
What happened, after.