The 3am's 😴



How different my 3am' s are this year, from the last four.

Instead of dealing with the cries from my first born, I’ve been dealing with my own wailing. 

It’s my heart, it feels like a fire pit, my chest heavy and my arms ache to have a hug from the baby I didn't get to bring home. Sometimes my stomach feels like it’s on an endless roller coaster drop, It makes me breathless and weak. 


I’m left with keepsakes, and a body that shows wounds that didnt do its job. Sometimes I can’t look at my stomach not because it’s shape has changed but because it’s shape had changed in vain. 

I have nights that are spent wondering who can understand me.

How I longed to be sleep deprived from looking after my first born and not wake to grieving her, with my new baby in my arms. I wake to wish her to be here, to have changed her nappies and to hold her, to smell her. 

I used to lay staring at the ceiling having flashbacks and nightmares. Hearing cries from the baby next door…Thinking I had a “healthy low risk pregnancy, how did I get here?”

Today I have 3am's I’ve longed for, but this isn’t a story of triumph… My daughter doesn’t compensate for my first born. Now my 3am's are thinking of all the things I was robbed of.

Every milestone has been a reminder and it will be so for a lifetime.                                                 

Grief isn’t momentary, as long as she isn’t here is as long as I’ll ache for. 

Laid bare - Mum of Fearne Frances,  

                - Step Mum to Taylor Thomas,

                - Soulmate to Tom.

(And Mummy To Frances)






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