I couldn't

My sister came over for a few days.
It was lovely; we chatted, drank tea, went shopping, watched movies.
Normal sister-stuff. It's those things you miss when you live in different countries.

My sister is pregnant.
Which is amazing!
And I'm thrilled to become a real-real aunty for the first time.
(Yes I have a niece and nephew on The Husband's side, but this is real-real.)

So I went shopping with my pregnant sister.
She bought baby-stuff; some lovely little newborn vests, sleepsuits, a cardigan, tiny bibs and a cute hat.
She's also been sending me photos of the nursery they've chosen, the highchair they like, links to the daycare they are looking at and the pram mam and dad are buying them. 
For the baby in her tummy that will be born in about 24 weeks time.

I didn't do that stuff.
I couldn't.
My heart and head didn't allow me.

I lost three babies before getting pregnant with Big Brother.
And with those babies I lost the trust in my body.
The trust in my body, that it would do what it was, allegedly, designed to do.
It failed me, over and over and over again.
Why would it work out this time?
Why would it be different?

But as the weeks passed that baby stuck.
And grew.
And the realisaton that we might just be bringing this baby home started to come.
So we had to get ready.

I can still remember the first thing I bought for Big Brother: five vests, in Dunnes, with Humpty Dumpty on them.
I cried. In the shop. In the car. And at home.
I also cried when I bought the first pack of nappies.
There were a lot of tears.

I didn't enjoy my pregnancies. Not Big Brother's pregnancy and not Little Brother's pregnancy.
It was survival.
Hoping, but no allowing yourself too much hope.
Trying to look ahead, but not too far.
One day at a time.
I wasn't happy until I held that baby.

Both boys were born full term, healthy, happy, doing great.
So I can't complain. I shouldn't complain.

But sometimes it hurts.
That I couldn't be as thrilled about a baby in my tummy as my sister is.
That I couldn't get excited about cribs and cots and baby baths and changing tables and nursery colors and nappy bags.
That I couldn't buy lovely little newborn vests, sleepsuits, a cardigan, tiny bibs and a cute hat.
For a baby that would be born 24 weeks later. 

Daily life

Playing is important. 

So is drinking milk. 

Trying to do it at the same time is just not going to work out when you're two years of age. 

The views around here, they're just beautiful. Can't wait for the trees to get those Autumn colors. 

Big Brother enjoys a bit of painting every now and then. And of course Little Brother wants to watch. What better place to sit than on top of the table? 

Dublin Zoo; what's not to love?

Most popular animals? Giraffes, tigers and elephants! 

Autumn's coming!

We went looking for pine comes. Found some but only small ones. I guess we'll have to try again next week. 

5Km? Check!

That was the goal: run for 5 kilometers. 

I followed the training programme although I usually only managed to go twice a week instead if the recommended three times. But let's be honest: who has time for three runs a week when you have a baby and a toddler? 

But I stuck with it. Got new shoes (best thing I ever did as my poor hip had started to give out). Enjoyed it. 

Until a Wednesday morning, two weeks ago. We woke up, I fed Little Brother, dressed the boys, ate a banana and off I went. 

It was awful. The first kilometer was fine. The second kilometer my stomach started to complain, my legs were heavy, my breathing all over the place. What was going on? I wasn't even running uphill. And I knew I still had to do that to get back to my car. I felt sick and had to stop. Left my banana in the ditch (sorry TMI) and walked to the car. Annoyed, so bloody annoyed. 

Probably shouldn't have had that banana before I went out. 

But I had had enough. How come I couldn't do this? I thought it was ridiculous. I am 28, healthy, have been following a programme, got brand new shoes. I should be well able. And that was it. 

On Sunday morning I put on my shoes and ran. 5 kilometers. And on Thursday I did it again. 

I shouldn't talk about it. I shouldn't think about it or try to analyse it. I should just do it. 

And I did. 

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