Will We Talk?

77- Unsteady

"Get back to bed, now." Sam demanded as I stood to go to the toilet.

For the past day, he'd been very clingy with me, but am I complaining? Absolutely not. This side of Sam was something that needed to come out more as it made me feel so loved.

His hand was wrapped around my wrist, holding me back from leaving the room for a simple one-minute task, "Babe, I'll literally be two seconds." I explained, "Plus, it's literally five in the morning, what makes you think I'm psycho enough to stay awake?"

His hand released me as I rushed around the house, quickly busying myself with the smaller tasks I hadn't been able to do as Sam was literally attached to me at every second of the day. Going to the loo, placing things in the dish washer, putting the whites into the washing machine, clearing the settee and moving boxes to one side took no less than three minutes.

I headed back into the bedroom, looking at Sam peacefully sleeping from the doorframe. I went to go back to cuddling him, but my eyes led to baby's room. Again.

Just when you think you get over it, it always comes and shocks you twice as much as it had before. The scenes rewinding over and over again in your head. It just hurts to think about what could've been yours. And it hurts to think about what I did to even miscarry that child. It had to be something I did, right? Or it wouldn't have happened. The guilt just sticks.

Slowly, I made my way towards the forbidden door, playing with the handle before letting myself in. My nose sensed the abandonment in the room. My legs carried me around the room, observing every nook and cranny. My ears heard the overwhelming silence around me. I nodded to myself, telling myself I was proud of myself.

I imagined what it would be like to wake up at this ungodly hour in the morning, coming in to cradle my baby and set them off to sleep. A sense of normality. Something that I could be doing right now, rather than stress over everything else going on in my life. Just the thought of a bairn knocked me sick, and suddenly I didn't want to leave the room.

Gracefully, I lowered myself to the floor, comfying myself before falling asleep. Asleep with my baby. My baby.

A strangled sob left my mouth as my eyes tightly shut, releasing a stranded tear from my eye that rolled down towards the floor, sliding over my nose. Once one tear escaped, there was zero stopping the rest from streaming. My breathing was jagged and my heartbeat unsteady, but it was oddly comforting.

Who knows? Perhaps one day I'll get over the loss of my child. But I don't see that happening for the foreseeable.