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The Uterus Monologues: Miscarriage, motherhood and me

The Uterus Monologues: Miscarriage, motherhood and me

Life after recurrent miscarriage

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Tag: Body image

November 5, 2019February 26, 2020Jennie

Guest monologue: How miscarriage changed my sex life

A guest post by Carly (@just_another_miscarriage) Sex is everywhere. It’s the go-to storyline in TV dramas, it keeps a whole film industry ticking over, has a genre of books dedicated to it (erotic fiction anyone?), and is tightly woven into the song lyrics we hear on the radio. We’re aware of sex, to a lesser […]

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March 6, 2019March 6, 2019Jennie

Post-baby body when there is no baby

‘Isn’t she beautiful?’ the advert asks. The subject of its question smiles out at me. Luminously lit in black bra and leggings, she holds her tiny baby close to her face, hands circled firmly around its back, as one pudgy leg dandles down, nudging the soft camber of her stomach, which is rippled with purple […]

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July 12, 2017March 5, 2019Jennie

Body fat composition . . . Foie gras

I thought I’d write about something that I’ve not seen given much airtime – even in pieces about pregnancy loss – and that’s body image after miscarriage. Perhaps it’s simply too shallow for words, and that’s why it’s not really mentioned, but it’s definitely been a thing for me, and if that makes me shallow, […]

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Say hello on Instagram...

Hello, if you’re new around here (and if you’re not, of course 👋). I’m Jennie. I was going to do one of those ‘about me’ posts you’re supposed to do when you get a little influx of followers. But then I couldn’t find a decent, recent picture of me without Edward in too, so I thought I’d talk about that instead: how much baby content is OK to share after loss(es) and/or infertility?
After months of staring at my screen, writing things, then deleting them, I’ve finally got a new blog post up. It’s about the transition from being a person trying really hard to have a baby to being a parent at last - and the tricks that plays on your brain. It includes some thoughts about the conflicting demands on your empathy, and also how your perspective and ability to relate to people who are still trying changes, as much as you may not want it to.
For anyone logging on after Mother’s Day weekend, who found yesterday hard, let me say this: well done. I’ll say it because no one else will. Well done for making it through the weeks of build-up, the constant reminders in the form of marketing emails and TV ads. Well done for getting through the deluge of social media tributes, the baby photos, the breathtaking insensitivity from some, and the thoughtful, well-meaning memes from others that you’re grateful for, but which don’t necessarily make you feel any better either. Well done for getting on with it, picking yourself up, and carrying on. Well done.
‘It is only kindness that makes sense any more.’ I shared this poem in full on my stories earlier in the week and I felt it deserved a more permanent home here. It seems fitting to me after the news cycle we’ve just had - and with Mother’s Day approaching. Kindness is the only thing that makes sense any more. (Try to include yourself in that this weekend). ❤️
How do we talk about the difficult parts of parenting a longed for baby? Spoiler alert: I don’t know. This picture is an outtake from one I shared a couple of months back, when Edward turned 6 months, and which I immediately felt guilty about sharing because it was so un-representative of how my life looked and how I felt on the inside. This picture is marginally more like it. A bit less polished, less cropped, less filtered. You can see the weeds pushing up through the cracks. A plant in the background that needs to go to the tip. My squashed, awkward smile; smiling through internal chaos. (I’ve still got clean hair, clean clothes, and make-up on though, which is absolutely not the norm).
Oh the absolute truth of this. I’ve been thinking about this quote for a couple of weeks now, and since my Grandma’s funeral especially. There has been so much to grieve this past year - so many people and also many other smaller life losses - and yet I feel like the true weight of it all is being held at bay for now, while we’re still stuck in survival mode. Being locked down has done strange things to grief for me, amplifying the surreality of it, and making it impossible to feel the full force of how much you will miss someone. Because at the moment you miss everyone, everything.

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