#llhm

So I’m going to give this try again.

I am doing a my first half Marathon on 1st August. So need to get my diet sorted out and start taking training seriously.

Going to follow my garmin novice half marathon plan starting on Monday.

Going to try and start being more sensible with my food. I’ve tried diets before and don’t want to watch and count everything I eat, but also know I need to stop the late night eating everything I can find in the cupboards.

So, it feels like recently the only time I write is when I’m down or feeling particularly proud of something, that is probably pretty accurate and unfortunately for you this is not really changing today and I’m going to just jump right in.

It has happened to us again, that is the super abridged version of what is going on with me right now. It’s happened again. And the thing is, that no matter how much I may or may not have tried to get my hopes up, I fully did and had already started to plan things out in my head about the future for me and my family. I started having little panics about choices I’m considering or decisions I’ve already made. I was out of work, also again, and that was not helping.

I feel guilty now about thoughts I’d had about the baby when we found out we were pregnant again, I had these exact same thoughts with every cub and with Kohen.

I’m not ready for this baby.

I’ve got plans, I’ve got things I want to do. Another baby is going to stop this from all happening or make me really selfish for trying to fulfil these things I want to complete.

I’m happy with my life as it is, why does it need to change?

But all of these very quickly gave way to happier thoughts, because each time each of these thoughts would have the edge to them removed by a simple message from my brain:

I’m going to be a dad again!

I’m going to be a dad again!!

I’m going to be a dad again!!!

But no…I’m not. And even though I’m feeling pretty numb right now to the whole thing, that one stupid 4 word phrase, separated by a stupid ellipsis, well typing that and just admitting it hurt me more than any punch or kick, more than my fractured skull or broken foot did. Those are just physical pains that very quickly just became memories of pain. Such get kicked in the face hurts like nobody’s business. Fracturing my foot falling about a foot off the climbing wall was embarrassing and really heckin painful. Every tattoo hurt. But it all fades. With time, it fades and you remember that it once hurt.

I’m not going to be a dad again. There it is. And it hurts again.

I remember how much it hurt the first time we were told the baby was dead, although they don’t say dead. They being, well everyone. They don’t say dead, they say lost like it’s my wallet or keys. Or gone, like a visitor that was just stopping by. Lost implies the ability to be found, the potentially infinitesimally slim chance it could be found. Gone can mean that they’ll come back. Dead…dead is final. There’s no chance. There’s no coming back. It’s done. They’re dead, and it really hurts every time I…well, now remember isn’t the right word. It hurts every time I think about what I’ve lost but can never find.

I feel like there is a real issue when talking about miscarriage, when you’re able to actually have the conversation – which let’s be honest, is pretty heckin hard to do in the first place – the conversation centres around the loss/death of the baby. The physical side and its impact on your emotional side. But there is something about miscarriage that is even harder to think about, let alone talk about, and it’s the loss of potential. The loss of this alternate future. All the stupid little plans, all the worries that you could have, all the joys and fears and sleepless nights, all of it gone. In a moment. A terrible moment, where the heat death of an entire alternate timeline hits you in the face and all you can do is sit in your stupid chair, avoiding eye contact with your wife because you can’t let her see you. Because you know that the moment she sees you, she’ll know. She’ll know that deep down, after all the tests she’s been through after the last 2. After what just happened, she’ll know. And you know, you know deep down that it has to be your fault.

This is the other side of miscarriage you don’t discuss with anyone. Blame. Obviously, you don’t blame your partner, you can’t. How could you possibly even consider it, and honestly you don’t ever consider it to be their fault, because there are only 2 choices for who to blame. It’s either no-one or you, and if there’s someone to blame it can’t be no-one. That’s nonsense, so you blame yourself. It has to be me!

The next part of miscarriage you can’t, won’t or just don’t discuss is jealousy. I don’t know if it happens to everyone, but pretty much 3 times now we’ve either had announcements or births happen around the same time we’ve had the bad news. I have never begrudged anyone having a kid. I have never had any negative thoughts that are directed at them or their baby, just need to clarify that. I have however been crazy jealous of their success (for lack of a better word). I have been jealous of the upheaval in their lives. Jealous of the myriad potential futures they now have in front of them.

Now there will be some people out there that think

“But think of everything you have. Think about how lucky you are to have Kohen. Think about etc etc”

To these people I say something profane. Something entirely uncouth and lacking in social graces. To them I ask do you not think I already know how lucky I am to have Kohen? Do you not think that after all the loss I’m not incredibly grateful for the possibly once in a lifetime opportunity I’ve been granted by the universe? Thinking about some things is all I have.

Our small family is little bit bigger now, but physically the same size. Claire and I, we have 4 children. 1 Crazy Little Monkey and 3 Bear Cubs. Now the Cubs, regardless of your beliefs, are in space and travelling the cosmos. They are visible to me every time a star in the sky is brighter than all the others around it. I love my Crazy Little Monkey, and I love my Cubs. I love my wife and I love my dog. I love my family. I love my family by blood and marriage, and I love my extra family of friends.

This was not supposed to be a morose, self-indulgent possibly semi-depressing post but sometimes you just have to play the hand you’ve been dealt.

I was going to try to finish this off with an update on Claire’s and my training for the upcoming races, but bloody COVID-19 has put paid to that, at least temporarily. We have, however, found a virtual race that we can run that is organised by the same people that were doing the the London Landmarks Half Marathon.