Notes from Dad

Whilst replying to meaningless work emails and trying to organise my first overseas trip in 10 years I came across this text typed randomly on our laptop.

A couple of paragraphs at the end of a long list of names. Adam & Amelia must have been spelling the names of all the people she knows. I though it was sweet, and rather than close it and lose it forever, or save it (and lose it forever)... I thought I'd put it in here.

Amelia is a beautiful girl, I love to watch her singing to the tune of Master Chef, singing and dancing to the tune and saying the names of the people on the show…
Funny…
And listening to Amelia yell out I wish that I had JESSIES GIRL!!! With all her might, and dancing and twirlering around..
Amelia is my most fantastic, most favourite, only important in the world, big little girl.
And I love her with all my being.

Written by Adam, June 2010

Things I've learnt

As our deadline approaches at a sickening rate, I find myself once again knee-deep in the pits of 'renovation'.

This is what I learnt this week:
* You can not get a crowbar through solid concrete
* When things look 'broken' they usually are
* No matter how prepared you are, it always takes 3 times longer and costs 5 times as much.
* Wet weatherboards weigh a TONNE
* Handling concrete makes your hands feel like... concrete
* When hammering, it is essential to hit the nail. Not your hand, arm, finger, forehead.
* It is impossible to have fingernails and do anything remotely constructive.
* You sleep really, really well after a hard day's work.

Our list is exhaustive and no matter how much we chip away at it, it just seems to get longer. Granted, that's because I keep adding to the darn thing, but seriously. Is the end even NEAR???

True to form, our house threw EVERYTHING it could at us. I swear it can smell fear. We ripped off the back of the house and our new window/sliding door unit arrived (of course said window frame did not fit into the trailer I spent 2 hours plus sourcing). Nevertheless, it arrived. As soon as it did, the heavens opened up. And I don't mean in a nice way, showering us in golden rays of light. No, the other way. The rain poured down, and just when you thought 'that's about enough', it got heavier. Of course, the timber wall frame was completely rotten. That part we'd expected. Finding out the corner had fallen off the slab was something we didn't factor in. What should have taken 2 hours on saturday (tops) was finally completed yesterday. 4 days late, but probably 3 days earlier than we should have done it - considering it required new concrete, but hey, you can't leave a house with no rear end in the dead of a Melbourne winter with 2 children in the house.

The windows are now in, but of course the plaster has not been hung - no point doing that when the room is open to the unhospitable elements. When our window installation failed, we moved on to plan B. Erect picket fence. Hmmm. Turns out the foundations to our old fence (bric - knocked down by me a few years ago) had the BEST foundations in the suburb, perhaps country. Despite repeated attempts (all in vain) NOTHING got through that sucker - refer point one above. Dear Uncle Scotty left today nursing 3 of the best blisters I've seen in a long while. Crowbar = 0, Concrete footing = 1. We had to call in the heavy artillery. We hired a jack-hammer. It took about an hour of heavy drilling. But at least now we have post holes. Unfortunately they are still empty. And here's why. The ceiling dudes came on my planned day off (which I wanted to use to strip, sand and fill the weatherboards for painting) to clean out our putrid ceiling cavity for new insulation.... and of course they turned the power off. For 4 hours. No one could do ANYTHING. Scott was in charge of erecting the fence. Impossible without power tools. I was in charge of paint prep. Heat gun doesn't work without power either it would seem. Who'd have thunk it.

Honestly, the world is against me.

Whilst our new window/sliding door unit is finally in, it is not air tight. I had to forego bathing the girls tonight because the back of our house is just too darn cold. I can't believe this either, but I actually miss our crappy, old, horrible, dirty insulation. Unbekonwn to me, it actually did make a difference. Since it's gone, our house is so cold!!!

Yet another item on my to do list. Buy insulation.

Same Old... Same Old

Everynight I go to bed and tell myself that tomorrow I will cherish my children, answer all their questions without once losing my patience and shower them with love and affection. And every night at around 5pm I find myself struggling to control my wafer thin temper and fight the sheer exhaustion that threatens to overcome me. I turn into a horrible, short tempered, yelling, angry Mummy. I hate it and I hate myself for being it. Then at the end of the day, when my gorgeous children are sleeping, I kiss their eyelids, hug them tightly, fight back my tears as I put them into their cofmy beds and swear tomorrow will be different.

Tomorrow I will be a better Mum. Tomorrow I will NOT lose my temper because you called out 'Muuuuum' for the 4,000th time in the space of 2 hours. Tomorrow I will NOT lose my temper because you spilt milk on the carpet. Tomorrow I will NOT yell at you for making a mess in my recently tidied loungeroom (because I only have 1 day off a week and that day is spent - not entertaining and enjoying my kids - but tidying the house around them). Tomorrow I will NOT rush you past the stupid ride in the shopping centre, tomorrow I'll stand there for an extra 3 minutes so you can sit next to a plastic big bird and smile.

Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow is Wednesday. Tomorrow I am NOT going to clean the house. Tomorrow I AM going to enjoy my kids. Tomorrow I will be a better Mother.

It's easy to pick out the best parts of the day, to re-live the bits that make you feel good. To gloss over the fact that you yelled at your kids for, well, no good reason really apart from being frustrated. What's hard is to admit that you didn't do a particularly good job today. To admit to your mistakes. To say out loud that you think you need to pull your socks up.... Even if no one reads this, at least I've said it to myself.

******

Thankfully that wasn't my day today. Today Harry was sick and I stayed home with her. Nothing too serious, just teething. She was uncomfortable and just wanted to be held. So that's what I did. I held her. For 2 hours I cuddled her on the couch until she fell asleep in my arms. I spent more time today sitting with my girl than I have in weeks, and I liked it. I didn't do the laundry. I didn't do the dishes. I didn't tidy up our bedroom. I just sat there and kissed her little head. Soon she will be too big for that, and I don't want to miss any opportunities!

12 Months

I can't believe my little baby is now one. So much has changed in such a short amount of time.

Harriet
How would I describe Harry? Clever, stubborn, affectionate. She started walking at 9 months. Literally just stood up one day and walked off. None of this pulling up on furniture for weeks or months. Just "I want to be over there" and she decided walking was the way to do it. Now she runs. She dances. Amelia and Harry rock out to the tunes of Beyonce on my iphone in the kitchen. Milly flings her twig thin legs about with such force and determination she almost decapitates her stocky little sister. Inspired by the likes of Angelina Ballerina, Milly's dance style is somewhat eclectic. Harry - being more stout and having a lower centre of gravity - likes to just get down and boogey. It's delightfully cute. She will come running from another room at the mere hint of 'All the single ladies'. Oh the shame! No kids songs for her! Who is this Justine Clarke you speak of? Give me Justin Timberlake or Hilltop Hoods!!!

Harry has settled into childcare like I knew she would. Picking her up at the end of the day is such a sweet pleasure. She spots me as I enter the door and races towards me, arms out, massive smile on her face, proclaiming 'Mumma, Mumma' at the top of her little lungs. She wraps her chubby little arms around me and smooshes her face into my chest. Then she'll throw her head back, mouth open and kiss me. Mwah. Once she's in my arms, I'm not allowed to put her down until she's in her car seat.

To my utter surprise, Harry is still breast fed. I've had a delightfully problem-free run with my boobs this time around. They have settled into their required state - perhaps a little too well. I have to most unimpressive set of breast feeding boobs. They are small, almost their normal size. None of this ravishing, full breast feeding cleavage for me. Nope. But at almost 13 months, I'm very happy Harry is still MINE in that respect. Childcare threw me a curve ball - or more so - Harry threw me a curve ball when starting childcare. Harriet decided that breastmilk from a bottle was a no-no. She refused, and refused, and refused some more. Meanwhile, I was expressing, expressing and expressing some more. I'd hide myself away in the toilet, cradling the pump to my boob, trying to ignore the nurffff nurfff nurfff noise of the pump and pretending all the other people using the loos were not wondering what the heck I was doing in there!!! I tried bottles of different brands, makes, models. Different teats, no teats, straws, anything! If it wasn't from my boob, she was not interested. It got to the point where she would cry at the mere sight of a bottle. Even if that bottle was in the sink being washed. She'd flap her arms, shake her head and cry real little tears. We had to make do with water only during the day, and then she'd slam me for about 6 feeds in between 6pm and 7am. Oh what fun. I'm pleased to say we're over the worst of it now. She's down to 2 or 3 feeds a day (well, night) and doing very well.

Her teeth are coming through slowly. Her bottom two teeth came through around her first birthday (so very recently) and now I notice she appears to be cutting her top 4. That's been fun. Not. Throat infections, ear infections, sleepless nights. So much for the amber necklace! I've never had anyone say they didn't work. Perhaps mine is a dud... Still, looks very pretty!

Amelia
My big girl is now 4. So grown up and still so small. She's all ribs and knees. As skinny as a pretzel. She has wild blonde hair and big blue eyes. She's clever and loves to sing. And sing. And sing some more. Some days she sings so much I have to ask her to stop. She sings Harry to sleep as we walk to the shops with the pram. She sings as she colours, she sings in the car, she sings in the bath.

She's a very emotional little thing. She's not robust like her little sister. She's sensitive to criticism, hates being told off, cry's at the drop of a hat, and is reduced to a howling, snotty mess on a daily basis. Sometimes more than once. I worry that, while she's very clever, she's not emotionally ready for school. She's got 6 months to toughen up - otherwise I think they'll eat her alive!

She's very considerate of Harry and does a wonderful job of sharing with her. She shares her toys, her room, her food - everything - and she does it without complaining and most of the time, without being asked. Harry on the other hand, will not share, is demanding and quite often will give Milly a quick swat if she's not fast enough to hand over whatever it is that Harry desires. My darling big girl is just that, a darling. Her Nanna thinks she's 'special'. Magical perhaps. I've never seen anyone take advantage of my Mother as easily as Amelia does. Mum will retell events through the day after looking after her and I'll put my head in my hands and say "and you did it/gave it to her/BOUGHT it for her??". Nanna loves her girls.

Which brings me to my next point.

Sydney
Adam and I have been given a fantastic opportunity to move to Sydney. The Northern Beaches, to be specific, Dee Why. Despite being very settled in our house and our lives, we're moving. We're moving away from our family and all our friends, from the kids kinder and childcare. Away from my work and out of a house and into an apartment.

Why would we do that? Well, why not?

It's 100 metres from the beach, needs a LOT less work than our little Victorian house and - did I mention it's really, REALLY close to the beach?? Adam's family has graciously let us live there rent free, so it gives us an opportunity to perhaps not have me work for a bit and spend some time with those children! You know, the ones that are growing up waaaay too fast???

We're planning to move in the next 2 months. I'm not looking forward to clearing out 7 years of accumulated crap, but it's got to be done at some stage, hey!

So, the return the blog land is a way to keep in touch with those we're leaving behind. Mainly my Mum. I figure I can write in here what we've been doing and she can read it and cry - because I know she will. Then, when she's finished crying, she'll book a plane ticket to Sydney and she'll come see us! Yay.

I'm trying not to think too much about all the things I'll miss, and trying to look ahead to all that is ripe to explore in our new environment!

6 months on...

It's been a haze of sleepless nights, boiling frustration and precious moments all mixed into one. 6 months has gone so fast!

Harriet is just a darling baby, she's chubby, happy, content. All the things you want in a little bub. She's got a fleck of ginger in her hair still, despite losing most of her newborn locks. It's kind of auburn, like I was. She has beautiful eyes, with lovely long eyelashes and huge cheeks. She has started solids and loves eating. She's still firmly committed to the boob, which is great for me! I'm loving breast feeding her. Miss Moo weaned herself at 4 months and I was horrified this would happen again, but I've been spared, and Harriet and I spend many an early morning curled up in our flanalette sheets for a feed and a snuggle before popping her back in her bed.

I'd love to say Miss Moo has taken to sharing her room with ease, but that's not been the case. Harriet likes a dark room, Amelia likes to sleep under a blaze of assorted lights. It's been hard to please both of them. Amelia's night waking has reached fever point and she can have Adam and I up at night sometimes 7 times. Nothing I say can pursuade her to go back to her bed and go to sleep. We've now reached a compromise. She will sleep on the floor beside her bed, but not in it.

Welcome Harriet

The coming of Harriet...

For the majority of my second pregnancy, we'd nicknamed out little intruder 'Aggy' (short for Agatha) as that was her intended name. A few days before her arrival, we changed our minds and the seed was sown for Harriet. The fact that 90% of people didn't like the name Agatha didn't deter us.... much....

8th April
My due date. Despite my absolute certainty that I'd be holding my little baby by now, my arms were still empty and my tummy still full. I was most displeased! Miss Moo was 5 days EARLY - what was this baby doing??? I'd tried all induction methods suggested - bar ingesting fould oil and shoving some tablet up my muff... I figure my muff will have a workout soon enough without me poking and prodding at it.

14th April - Tuesday
Obstetrician appointment. This dude was living in the 60's mate! Talk about old fashioned! He was using gynecological terms I'd never even HEARD of!? I kept looking at my partner with this 'what was that' expression on my face. I was booked in for my unavoidable induction on the 17th. I was a bit distressed about this and had a cry on the way to the car. I'm not 100% sure why, I just felt like my body was letting my baby down.

I'd been having constant Brackston Hicks contractions for 2 days at this stage. Coming every 10 minutes on the banger. I had CTG monitoring before my appointment, which showed my contractions and the midwife looked at me with that 'you're on your way' expression. I thought she was completely wrong. Nothing was happening, and I'd be back on Friday.

The OB offered me an internal, which I took. The midwife's knowing look had given me slight hope that something was actually happening. After stripping off my bottom half and assuming the position on the table, I had to ask the OB to close the curtain over. I could see the window washer hanging in the window outside!! I'm sure that would have made his day! Poor kid - he was only a young fella. Most likely the sight of an old guy in a suit with his had up my muff would have caused him to fall off his perch.

The OB said I was soft and thinning, but not dialated. See you on Friday.

This pregnancy was just so different from my first - and despite being told that - I didn't actually believe things would be any different. I thought things would progress the same way they did the first time. I'd wake up in the middle of the night and my waters would break. Contractions would start and away we go.

We headed home from the Hospital and started preparations for Friday. Mum was coming down Thursday morning to mind Miss Moo and we had to be at the hospital at 6.45am on Friday morning. I was prepared for a horrid day of intervention after intervention and was sad to miss out on my last 'natural' birth.

At around 10pm that night, my constant companion (brackston hicks) started to get rather bitey. We were discussing when BH become actual contractions, as I didn't believe I was having them yet. Turns out I was as they got stronger, more regular and more painful throughout the night. I got up around 2.30am and moaned my was through them on the couch using heat packs until 5am when they abruptly stopped in their tracks!

I even rang the hospital at 4am to discuss what I should do, but commented that despite the fact they were close together, they just weren't hurting enough. She said to stay home and if I felt I wasn't coping with the pain to come in then.

I was so tired, I was begging for sleep, then it all finished and I was begging for them to come back! So, I went to bed.

April 15th - Wednesday
I got up around 10.30am when another rude contraction woke me. These were not regular - despite being quite painful.

I'd been on the phone to every darn person I knew telling them nothing was happening and I'd be going in Friday. Come lunch time, my contractions were back to 10 mins apart and steadily getting stronger but not longer. Still only lasting about 30-40 seconds. Despite this, I still didn't actually believe I was in labour. No show, no waters broken.... just annoyingly painful contractions! I was still using heat packs and walking through them. I knew by the time I got from the lounge to the front door, it would be almost over. I walked this over and over (each time admiring our newly polished floor boards).

We decided to ring my cousin to come sit with Milly. We rang her around 1.30 and told her to take her time. I remember my parter saying - "Do you really want to go to hospital?" whilst STILL WORKING on his laptop. He spent most of the day working, and I spent most of the day quietly dealing with each contraction in turn. My cousin arrived at 3.30, at which point I was in the bath and had been there for about hour. I was so glad to see her! I wanted some medicinal relief! Ad went to get Milly from Creche, when she arrived they swapped spots on the bathroom stool. Kate poured hot water over my tummy and back whilst I fought to find my breath as the contractions rolled over me. The bath was delightful, and I was DREADING getting out and into the car. I knew that car trip was going to hurt!

Finally, Adam returned from collecting Moo. She came in to say hello and took her turn in pouring water over my tummy. She seemed to take it all in her stride. I was worried she's freak out seeing me in pain, but she seemed more interested than worried. I got out of the bath, my poor cousin had to help me put my underpants on and get dressed - I'm sure she's scarred for life (it's been a while since by last wax) - then after a quick photo (mid contraction and complete with boob sweat) we headed to the hospital - arriving at 5pm. Miraculously there was no peak hour traffic, the Gods were smiling on me! I had 3 contractions in the car and literally screamed my way through them. I instructed Ad to keep driving no matter what I was saying. We got to the car park and I burst into tears - I didn't want to do this any more! It was hurting too much. I still didn't seem to realise I was in labour. I was convinced they were going to send me home.

Thankfully, the lady on admissions was lovely enough to pull me into a side room so I could swear out the next contraction without offending anyone waiting. Once we were in the birthing suite I really let go. It took about half an hour to go over my history, and then another few minutes for them to track down a mat for the floor and a bean bag. Ad was rubbing my back with each contraction, now about 5 mins apart and I held the heat pack on my lower tummy. I would lean over the bed and march my legs up and down with each contraction - on my tippy toes for the particularly ouchy ones. I got onto the floor for a bit, but just couldn't find a good spot. The sheet was hurting my knees and the bed had an annoying bar in the way. The midwife finally offered me some gas, which I took with pleasure.

I asked about having an internal - they said they'd do one within the first 2 hours. I'd been there for an hour at this stage. It felt like days. My contractions were now about 3 mins apart and freaking hurting like buggery. I was trying to not hyperventilate - like last time when my mouth and hands all contorted and Mum and Ad were laughing at me - had I realised how close to the end I was, I wouldn't have bothered!

I was preparing to ask for an Epidural, but for some stupid reason, I didn't want to actually ask for it, I wanted them to offer and then I'd just accept... weird hey?

I was back on my feet by this stage - the contractions almost too much to bare. The pressure in my pelvis made my legs feel numb and made my hips feel like they were going to dislocate and pop out of their sockets. I was up on tippy toes for most of them and I'm sure I resembled some sort of prehistoric elephant. I was literally Mooing and tooting through the contractions, gas mouthpiece firmly clamped between my teeth, head thrown back, both hands clutching and grabbing at the sheets on the raised bed and marching on my tip toes. This huge, pregnant woman in a pink nightee. Even now when I think back to that stage, I see myself as this huge elephant, trumpeting away.

Then, out of nowhere, I had 2 or 3 contractions, one right on top of the other with not a seconds break in between. My waters broke and then gushed and I sucked on that gas like it contained the last bit of oxygen in the world. I had the strangest sensation - the gas made my hearing go all funny and everything was a mash of echoes. Ad and I were alone in the room. I heard him say in a far away voice 'Oh dear' and he left me for a second. That's when the second part of the contraction hit and the strength of it sent turrents of warm water running down my legs. Ad thought I'd wet myself. Bless him. I was thinking - 'Where the FUCK is everyone???". We were still alone and I was standing in a huge puddle fighting for air after feeling like I'd just gone 2 rounds with Mohamad Ali in my tummy.

The midwife finally came back and from the faraway land of gas I heard her saying good girl and could feel her take my nickers away. My waters were clear and now covered the majority of the floor. She asked me if I felt like pushing. I thought your freaking crazy, this baby's not actually coming and I haven't had my epidural yet??!! The pressure in my pelvis changed within seconds, and I could feel Aggy drop down, almost like she left my cervix and commenced her final decent. I moved back to the end of the bed and the midwife told me to try pushing with my next contraction. I'd been at the hospital for 2 hours and thought surely there's a mistake. I asked her in a tiny whisper "What if it's not time to push yet?". The gas had taken my voice away. Apparently it was time. I could feel Aggy move lower and lower with each contraction I had.

Poor Ad put his arm in front of me for me to grip onto. I pummelled his hand and a few times even bit him. I was screaming, moaning, swearing and shaking my head. No, no more. Nope, can't do this. No, make it stop. Down, down, down she came, closer and closer. I could feel her moving further down with each contraction. Down and down, streching me. Burn, sting, rip. I felt the rip. I paused for a second, but the damage was done already. I may as well keep pushing.

Within 20 minutes she was out. On the floor between my legs, quiet and still. Panic rose through the thick haze the physical exertion left behind. Then it came, a cry. My baby, OUR baby. The midwife asked if I wanted to pick her up. I'd forgotten how to do it. She was slippery, covered in blood and thick vernix. She was JUST like her sister, but with a hint of red in her hair. My perfect little baby with one pokey-outey ear. Harriet was with us at last.

I was helped up from the floor onto the bed. My legs so weak from 2 days of walking off contractions and then an hour and a half of kneeling. The midwife on one side and Adam on the other - they pulled me up and my first step landed squarely in the lovely puddle of birth fluid, mecconium and god knows what else! The brown gook squelched up between my toes and I KNEW I'd have no hope in hell of bending over the clean that off! It was coming with me into the bed. Urgh. Nothing worse that having shit between your toes (literally).

She cried, and cried, and cried. Then cried some more. She didn't want any boob. Wouldn't have a bar of it actually. I was surprised. I'd read so much about these babies that come out and latch straight onto their mothers breast and stay there. Well, she got there eventually, and now it seems indeed that she is always on it, to this day, she's barely left!

The Doctor was called it to sew me back together. She took SO long I actually asked her if she was going Macrame down there?? She stitched for a good hour and after saying my vagina was somewhat traumatised, she left. When I finally did get up to have a shower, some 3 hours later, I thought she's left something behind, stuck between my legs. No, that was my vagina. HOLY SHIT. It was as big as a melon. EEEKKK. What had I done?

After calling myself Franken-gina for the better part of a week, I finally found the courage to have a look. Let's just say I cried. I cried and cried. I got in the shower and cried some more. My breasts were engorged beyond DD cup proportions, my stomache was flabby and limp, my body was in the midst of a mass-uterine 'evacuation' and my vagina was now torn from you know where to that other spot. I was broken.

Well, I thought I was, turned out I did heal just like Adam said. For a while I didn't think I would. Now..... all is good, and despite my solomn vow "no more", my 2 girls are so beautiful, I'd consider a third...

A Child Lost

It's been a traumatic few weeks. Unbelievable and unimaginable things have happened. Horrible, unjust and shattering things.

How do you justify the loss or death of a child? You simply can't. There are things that just shouldn't happen in this world, and a mother losing a child is one of them.

My dear friend has suffered such fate only 3 weeks ago. It was a twist in our pregnancy journey no one saw coming. We were happily walking down our paths to parenthood for the second time, enjoying and complaining about the trials and tribulations of pregnancy.

I'd been at the hosptial for a midwife check up the day before, and kept an eye out for my friend, as I knew she had an appointment around the same time. Miss Moo and I watched while we waited but we were not rewarded with her presence.

I was taking Miss Moo to see her Nanna in the morning, and stopped over to see my dear neighbour and friend late in the evening. Her daughter was sleeping and her husband was busying himself removing Christmas decorations.

We had a quiet chat in her loungeroom that was so removed from our normal discussions it's left an imprnt on my mind. So quite was her house, so strange was her demeanour, so timid was I in my response, I wonder if we both didn't already know what lie ahead?

3 times during our conversation on that warm night she mentioned her fear of stillbirth. Like most mothers and expectant mothers, I pushed it to the side, not wanting to give it any attention. It simply doesn't happen, and it doesn't happen to people like US. No. It's all fine. Everything will be fine.

I told myself that as I got into bed, and I reaffirmed myself that constantly during the next day. I knew she was going back to the hospital to check her blood test results in the morning, and I was expecting a phone call to say her levels had skyrocketed and they had performed an emergency ceasarean and she was now the proud mummy of a little boy.

When I got a message to call her back, I was surprised to hear her sounding beyond exhausted, and perhaps a little upset??

Wow, I thought, we have a baby already??? That was fast! I grabbed the phone and rang her back. No answer. Typial, she never gets to the phone in time. But, she'll be busying herself over Luca by now, so she'll call back when she gets the chance.

Not long after my phone rang and her familiar name flashed up on my screen. "Hi! How are you?" (I love talking to her on the phone, she practically sings she's always that happy).

Silence.

"We've had some bad news"

"Oh?" - They did a ceasarean, she'll be spewing!

"The baby died"

How the hell do you respond to that? There were no words, there was no comfort I could offer, there was nothing I could give to take the pain away, to give back her beautiful boy, to make it all right. It's wrong, so wrong. Wrong it hurts, aches, pains.

I could say nothing apart from I'm sorry.

How could this happen? Yesterday she was pregnant, we were pregnant together. Now she has an empty belly, flat breasts and no son to welcome home. Their first born son, taken away, so close to coming home and yet so far. 35 weeks is a long time to be pregnant. Its' a long time to lug around a big tummy, to bond with your unborn child, to plan for the future. In a second, it's all taken away.

How do I support my poor dear friend, when I must be a constant reminder to what she's lost?? I fear my friendship is going to break her in half! What a horrible reminder to be faced with. Why her and not me? Why her FULL STOP. It's simply not fair. He should be here, living and breathing, cooing at his big sister and looking lovingly into his Mummy and Daddy's face. Keeping them up all night, poo-ing all over the place and generally being the sleep depriving beings newborns are.

But he's not. And we'll forever be lost at his loss.

Now my delightful friend has an emptiness about her. Tired eyes. She smiles, but it's only on the surface. I can't imagine the pain she is going through. It still hurts my throat to think about it. In a way, her loss is mine too.

It's unimaginable, unbelievable, horrible, unjust and shattering.

To think some people can bring about the demise of their own children. To use their hands to extinguish one of their own. Their flesh and blood, their love and their life. It's too horrible to even comprehend!

Another life lost, another child gone. A father - her own father - took his little girl and caused her death. A horrible death, I it makes me sick to think about her last moments. Did she know? Was she aware what was happening? Was she scared when he put her over the rails of the bridge?

How could he???

Last night, in the stinking Melbourne weather, we set up camp in our back yard. My little girl asked if she could sleep with me. I was almost glad. It would be my pleasure. She never left my side, and my touch on her was constant. CONSTANT. I did not want to let her go.

If I close my eyes, I see that little girl. That little girl lost was my girl. Curly blonde hair and chubby fingers. Skinny bandy legs and a little pot tummy. Big blue eyes staring back at me, asking me 'Why?'.

Sometimes the pain this world inflicts is too much to withstand.