This post deals with miscarriage and might be triggering for some readers.
I don't know why I am sharing this. I guess I realise that someone might be able to relate, or not, or maybe it’s a little bit cathartic.
But I just needed to express some moments of absolute pain and loss, but also incredible gratitude and it's not something I can share anywhere else.
Today, I miscarried.
Watch: A tribute to the babies we've lost. Post continues below.
My eight-year-old daughter didn't know that I was pregnant. I miscarried about 20 minutes prior to needing to do the school run, then spent half an hour cleaning myself up through tears and shock and just so much mess.
Once I was semi-decent, I jumped in the car in some trackies, forgot my shoes and raced to school sitting on a towel.
I knew I was going to be insanely late, so I called a dear friend and school mum who was quick to offer to grab my daughter and take her home.
She said, “Just take your time and pick her up from my place, it's all good. I'm walking to her now!"
I have so much gratitude for my village. My dearest friends, who I can show up to at their place; forgetting my shoes in a mad panic, and there's nothing but a big hug and zero judgement.
Later, as we got home from the school run, I thought things were going to be okay.
Nope. Another whoosh of horror. This time, right in front of my daughter. I knew I was going to need to have a conversation with her about what was happening.
I told her I'd get cleaned up and we'll chat. Instead, I sat on the toilet forever, semi-crying, kind of in shock and a little bit panicked (actually a lot panicked).