On Sunday 26th October, we baptised our 12-year-old daughter, 7-year-old son and 8-month-old baby. It feels remarkably comforting and joyful to say this.
It’s been cleansing for me too, as I fell away from my faith for a number of years. It seemed to heal the hurt that I’d experienced, to dissolve the anger I’d once had with Church.
The day started well as all the children were well! The baby had a sniffle but I’d been praying for us and the godparents to keep well amidst the endless rounds of seasonal colds and tummy bugs, so I was glad we were all okay.
I’ve not been blogging or networking much lately. I’ve been feeling run down, very low about Abi and generally snowed under with work and family life. I feel flat and pretty much overwhelmed as again we face more special occasions without our girl.
It’s particularly busy this weekend as it was my hubby’s 40th birthday yesterday and we are also having our children baptised… all three together … on Sunday. It should be a wonderful time of celebration and excitement, but when you’re living with loss, times like this turn into the bleakest of winter days.
Of losingthree pregnancies in my life, of the little beans that I didn’t get to meet. Of little Bella who we thought would bring more joy to our already happy home, which then turned into such a tragic story of baby and child loss. I’m pretty realistic when it comes to pregnancy. I know it doesn’t always go to plan, that if a pregnancy ends in the early days then it’s not meant to be, but it doesn’t make it any easier to have that hope taken away. It’s a physical and mentalloss.
Since my daughter’s death in February 2013, and Baby J’s birth in February 2014 (the significance of them being a year apart is not lost on me!), I’ve been suffering with anxiety. I talked a little about how this escalated after the birth of my son this year, and how with my weakened physical strength, my mental strength gave way to waves of anxiety that shook me and my hubby up for a while.
[I didn’t post this blog about Halloween at the time, I suppose to avoid offending anyone or to put a damper on the fun, but reading back on it, it’s certainly worth sharing. It’s not a major worry for me now, and who knows how I’ll feel about it in the years to come, but it’s a classic example of how trauma and grief can distort things.]
I passed the six-month mark and thought I’d wean him off then. I know it’s advised to feed for a year these days, but I just couldn’t see myself doing it that long, what with teeth and the endless night feeds. I fed Boy J up to six months and that was what I had in mind this time round too.
But we’ve now passed seven months and I’m still in two minds.
So, I’ve been thinking about the reasons I want to give up breastfeeding: