This post deals with stillbirth and might be triggering for some readers.
Earlier this year, when my husband Martin and I found out we were expecting our second child, we were overjoyed.
I was 42, and we felt so lucky to fall pregnant. So smug. I thought, here we are falling pregnant during COVID-19 – I’ll be able to go into hiding and just sit on the couch and come out of this with a baby boy.
Watch: A tribute to the babies we've lost. Post continues below.
We didn’t tell anyone except family at the 11-week mark. We were so excited.
You get to 12 weeks and think it’s all smooth sailing, but it wasn’t for us. We lost our precious son Woody halfway through.
We need to talk about stillbirth and miscarriage because it happens, and it’s a terrible loss that needs to be grieved, validated and supported to enable the families to recover.
I guess it’s an ugly topic, one that we’ve been told in previous generations should be kept quiet – but we know better now. We know that families need support, and the little babies need to be celebrated too for their short but beautiful lives.
We went into our 19-week scan with no idea that our world was about to crumble. At that point you’re actually not just finding out that the baby has 10 fingers and 10 toes. You’re finding out way more.
For us it was really bad news, and it caused a chain of devastation. Our baby had passed away. I gave birth to Woody on June 24 at about 8pm. It was the most horrifying and devastating experience of my life, and while there was so much beauty in meeting our son Woody, the devastation of holding a stillborn baby sits with me every day.