Today, a midwife rolls up to my cottage, scales in hand ready to weigh my new arrival offering her congratulations and telling me how handy my new porch is for the pram! I burst into tears. Once was bad enough. Twice, surely not. A third time, is this some sort of sick joke??
She is lovely, mortified at her error, terribly apologetic and hugs me. I spend half an hour in download mode sobbing profusely.
This afternoon I journey to Mothercare to buy a tiny baby outfit so the undertaker can dress my little girl. I don't want her to be buried naked. i want her to be warm! The dress of course even though it's for a premmie is miles too big.
My son offers up a cuddly butterfly toy of his to place in the coffin and I give up the Mayan necklace I wore throughout the pregnancy to soothe her. I hope if she ever hears it jingle she thinks of her Mummy.
I also spent time writing a letter to my daughter which the vicar will read aloud at the graveside at tomorrows funeral.
My son has made two pictures today which we will attach to two helium balloons tomorrow and he will release them up to the heavens tomorrow for his two sisters.
Today was tough, tomorrow i know will be one of the saddest days of my life.
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