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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: small gestational sac

May 30, 2017June 2, 2018Jennie

The versions of us

Somewhere out there in an alternative universe is a version of me who is 31 weeks pregnant. Swollen, and a bit hot in this weather, but, still, happy. She’s down to the last button on her maternity dungarees – she’s huge! – and the nursery is painted (dove grey, a cliché, but practical). The cot […]

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As my boy turns 2 this week, indulge me for re-sharing this one ❤️🌈✨ #pregnancyafterloss #pregnancyaftermiscarriage #rainbowbaby
I’m half serious here…I’m currently about half way through three different paperbacks and have four partially finished audiobooks on the go. 📚🤪
Just the best bits. Not shown: Many deskbound days, an army of slugs, toddler tantrums, and one VERY vomit-inducing ferry ride.
For anyone feeling stuck or lost right now, this is a post for you (as much as it is also a reading recommendation). I read the first book in this series, The Cazalet Chronicles, three years ago on the holiday we took during our year-long break from trying to conceive. I loved it so much that, in an attempt to spread out the pleasure of it, I decided I would read the rest of the series at a rate of no more than one book per year. This meant I ended up reading the second volume in the final weeks of my pregnancy with Edward and then in the hazy first weeks of his life. (Please don’t ask me to recount any plot detail…)
When I was pregnant for the first time, the 12-week ‘rule’ seemed little more than a fun tradition to me. We didn’t tell many people ‘in case something happened’, but without really believing anything actually would. Whether you tell people early, or whether you wait, either way, this enduring social convention starts to feel like a big cosmic joke after you lose a pregnancy.
Hi, I’m Jennie - and this is what the back of my hair actually looks like in real life. 🤷🏻‍♀️ I wasn’t going to share this picture. I’ve been having a kind of Instagram stage fright - it often happens when I’ve been posting reasonably regularly for a bit. I start to feel over-exposed, I annoy myself, I worry and question everything I start to write. I tell myself that if I’m going to share my awkward selfies and snapshots of my rather quiet life, I better have something powerful and important to say. So I end up saying nothing for a bit and feeling rubbish. But do you know what? Life’s too short.

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