Ten Months - A Toby post.

Double figures!

So, what to say about you little man? You are gorgeous - that probably doesn't need saying. You're still as chubby as ever with ringlets of sweet baby podge on your arms and your legs. You are crawling (of sorts).You remind me of a caterpillar as you still use your stomach to manoeuvre yourself to wherever it is you want to get to, (usually towards the nearest wire. You are yet another man in my life with an absolute fascination with technology). It's amazingly efficient - nothing chewable stands a chance against you.

You're a chatterbox. Yes, you're right - you have to be to get a word in edge ways around here. No definite words yet (we did wonder if you tried to say Ben the other day - maybe) but lots of emphatic sounds. I do love our nonsense conversations.

And I remain ridiculously, naively, hopeful that sometime soon, you'll decide to sleep! I'm not reckless - all night wouldn't be completely necessary but three ... maybe even four... hours at a stretch unpunctuated by you expressing your view that sleep is for lesser beings, that would be the icing on the cake little one. Until then ...

You have brought such a lot of light and love and giggles into our life. Thank you for living.

Still Here.

I needed to step away, pause, regroup - enjoy these fleeting, precious newborn moments with my last child.

But I still need this place. Because, despite the joy and happiness that Toby has brought back to our family, my daughter is still dead. Still dead. Still dead. Stillborn, still dead. And I still miss her deeply. I still want to speak her name. Toby has given me opportunities to do that. People ask who he looks like. "Emma. He looks like Emma," I say - and watch their confusion, their memories ticking over as they try to remember who Emma is. My daughter, his sister. I have not forgotten and I will speak her name over and over again. It may discomfort them but it brings me comfort.

He smiles now - and it melts me to tears. Tears of joy, tears of absolute devastation. He is so beautiful when he smiles. I know her smile would have been adorable too and I feel like I've lost her all over again.

And even though I've not been writing or reading here as frequently, I have been thinking about you all. I am still here.

Toby's photoshoot.

A friend from SANDS (Stillbirth and Neonatal Death Society) is a photographer. She gifted us with a photoshoot to welcome Toby to the world. Here he is, aged 4 weeks:

Mad about the Boy.

I've gone quiet. I'm sorry. It's just that if it comes to a choice between catching up on my blog or one more snuggle with my delicious boy, then the snuggles win hands down!

He is two weeks old - and gorgeous. He is feeding well and getting to be a chubby little thing. He has perfected his Queen Victoria impression and quite often pulls his "we are not amused" face whilst asleep. I could sit for hours and watch the different expressions flit across his face. I wonder if Emma visits him in his dreams. I have told him about her. I remember reading "An Exact Replica ..." and crying when Elizabeth McCracken describes whispering Pudding's story into the ear of newborn baby Gus. The night he was born, I did the same for Toby. I described Emma to him. It pleases me that he will grow up hearing her name spoken.

Here he is:

The same, so different.

All four of my children have looked similar at birth - there is no mistaking their sibling relationship. But Emma & Toby ... perhaps because of their colouring or perhaps I just want to see it more ... they are so very, very alike.

I am happy and I am content. I am totally and utterly in love with the tiny boy who snuggles in my lap. But when I hold him as he naps, I can look up and see her photograph (the same picture as the one on this blog) and the tears fall so easily. In his sleep, the similarities are painful because that is how I remember her - the stillness. And yet, it isn't the same. Even in his sleep, Toby is not still. He frowns, he makes little milk moues searching for the breast he is dreaming about, he squeaks, he melts our hearts. He wriggles with wind.

I call Emma our forever baby - I don't like the term angel and this description sits more easily with me. The truth of it hurts though. At one week old, Toby has changed more, grown more than ever Emma will. I am forcibly reminded of what I am missing as the mother of a child forever a newborn. And yet, I agree with Jay when she speaks of the thinness of the veil separating us from our children. I feel Emma's presence so profoundly and strongly right now and I'm so glad of it.

I'm relieved that I was prepared (a little) for this. I have read lots of blogs by mothers raising subsequent babies so the grief that is entwined with our joy has not taken me by surprise. I have always been clear that none of my living children bear any responsibility for healing me. They simply make my heart sing - and that is the same for Toby as it is for Ben & Lucy.

The baby formally known as "Jurgen" ...

I know Dave has already posted our wonderful, wonderful news on his blog (and has been very touched by all the lovely comments) but here it is from me:

Tobias Matthew (Toby) - 7 lb 9.5oz
Born at 11.37am, 19th January 2010
UTTERLY GORGEOUS!


***Warning: Entirely self indulgent bit of blogging to follow. Toby's birth story and lots of gratuitous shots of the little man.***

I wanted to write out Toby's birth story as soon as possible. I was pretty cranky a few posts back about his imminent arrival by c-section. I think I went a bit loopy from the pregnancy hormones and anxiety for a couple of weeks back there. This is where I eat humble pie and say that Toby's arrival in the world was beautiful and I want to honour it and remember it. Dave and I agree that, of the four births we have experienced, Toby's - despite taking place in a brightly lit, surgical environment - was the calmest and most gentle. I worried I'd never fully feel at peace about the way he needed to come earthside. I was wrong - I already do.

So here is our journey to meeting our second son:

Jurgen's last night in utero (38+2):


We arrived at the hospital on Tuesday morning at 8am to be booked in. We were met by the midwife, A, assigned to be our main carer and we warmed to her immediately. Because we were booked for surgery, her role was primarily to support us emotionally and help to advocate for us. Ordinarily, only one midwife would accompany us to theatre but we were asked if a student could come too - and our midwife's manager - as A. had just transferred to our hospital from a trust with different procedures. Our baby was certainly going to have quite an entourage!

We filled in forms. We met LOTS of different staff - who had all read our notes (not always a foregone conclusion) and were respectful and sympathetic about Emma's birth and death.
... and then we waited. An emergency had occurred. Of course it took precedence. The waiting was probably the hardest part of the whole day - we felt so close. And the fear of something going wrong again was palpable.

Finally, at 11, we set off to theatre and I said goodbye to Dave as he went off to make like George Clooney in his surgical scrubs. The atmosphere in the OR was really amazing. I could tell everyone in there was rooting for us (Dave said he heard one of the midwives in the seconds before Toby arrived say, "Please be okay baby.") It was SO very different from my experiences of birthing in an emergency. The pace was measured and everyone's professionalism really reassuring. It took quite a while to site my spinal but finally Dave was by my side and we were informed that our baby's birth was imminent. They lowered the screen and our very cross, pink, SCREAMING baby appeared over the top. A boy we discovered - I actually guessed right this time!! The next few minutes are - quite literally - a blur. They had taken my glasses away and I was crying so hard I couldn't see anything for quite a while. I did hear lots though - I heard the wonderful, wonderful midwives chatting away to our son, cooing over him and telling him how gorgeous he was - which I think are pretty good things to hear when you're minutes old! ... and then he was in Dave's arms. We had waited a lifetime for that moment and it was hard to believe that he was healthy and whole.
Emma - we miss you every single day. This week more than ever. So many mixed emotions, our sweet forever baby. We love you.

Toby - welcome. We are so grateful for your presence in our lives, our precious rainbow son.