This started as a pregnancy blog when I fell pregnant in May 2009 after four years of finding a donor, doing all the counselling / paperwork / tests and trying.
And now, thanks to a 4WD which skidded onto our side of the road, killing our baby daughter at 34w and injuring me, my partner and two of my stepdaughters on 27 December 2009, it has turned into something else. We didn't want this something else, but apparently it is all we've got to go on with.
There are so many things I've been wanting to say - mostly thank you so much for saying lovely things about our khallila (little darling) Z and her photo. I want so much more from that little face, but I know the hankering doesn't do me (or her) any good. "I love you just the way you are, my darling" - I guess that is the bit of parenting that I still aspire to - loving without being pushy, without wanting more.
Last week things kind of overtook me - more media around the sentence being handed down, then my step-daughter gave me a cold, and now that I'm feeling on the way to human again, there is an enormous pile of exam marking to be done. Mrph. But there are good things in there too, like finally deciding how we're going to spend christmas and new year and having to rush crazily to book ferries and accommodation, and pleasantly dithering over where I'll plant new little vegie seedlings, lovingly germinated from seed by my best friend. And, as always, a good amount of standing in the front garden staring at the full moon and one particular star, and getting weepy all over the pomegranate bush.
The sage flowers are finished, and the succulents are making pink plastic-looking blooms. This little cactus-y plant has a history - it came to us from the house around the corner, where six grown-up siblings were having a garage sale of their 92-year-old mother's house, where they'd grown up. We'd bought some furniture and pots and it was the end of the day, so they insisted on giving us all the left over plants. Their mother has dementia, and is now in a home, hopefully with some good plants around her.
El Prima is away on a work trip, and without her here to harangue me to bed, I'm aimless, pottering until far too late. After all my false hope of last month's TTC efforts, this month was decidedly low key - I was half surly about the whole process and the twisting effect it has on our hearts. So it was mainly grim determination, rather than hope, this month, and my body rewarded my cynicism with a 24-day cycle - sparing me the agonising over faux-symptoms and whether or not to test that those last days usually entail. Which means I'm booking another flight to Sydney...
This paper-thin year is nearly done. I had been sulkily refusing to acknowledge the existence of 2011 (what kind of ridiculous futuristic concept is that!) but we're heading steadily towards it regardless of my sulking. Please let it surprise me in a good way.
El Prima - my *ex* partner & aaineh number one. Yep, she's a lady. And so am I. Scandalous. Even better, she's Lebanese - and not just in a euphemistic way.
"the girls" - El Prima's two teenage daughters, Snacky & Snazzy, who live with us, and put up with my poor attempts at stepmama-ing. Her eldest daughter is 20 and living in another city. Snacky moved up to Sydney to study in Feb 2012 after finishing high school. Snazzy still lives with us (or at the house, with El Prima) and visits me and Ali where we are staying with friends,
Z - (aka Haloumi or khallila) our baby daughter, who died from placental abruption at 34w in the car accident on 27 December 2009.
Ali - long awaited little brother to the girls and to Z, born in May 2012
*edited on 13 July to add*
[where did my ticker go? It broke - I guess pregnancy tickers don't magically transform into "x days since our baby would hypothetically have been born, had she not died 6 weeks before" tickers. And I'm not sure I need a little program to tell me anyway.]
*edited on 11 Jan 2010 to add*
I think the reason why I'm leaving this ticker up here is because it is important to my mourning right now. We've had a funeral for our beautiful little girl, but in accordance with El Prima's faith (and my wishes) we will have a further, more public, ceremony around 40 days after she died. In some kind of wierd coincidence, 40 days was almost exactly how many days were left until her due date at the time she died. (I think that counts as irony of the saddest kind)
So while the significance has changed so radically, we are still counting down to something, even if it is not what we expected.
The fine print
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