Baby shoes at the back of the cupboard

This week I have been what is best described as a total and utter mess.

I found a pair of tiny crochet baby shoes that I made on the second day I knew I was pregnant. They were in the gift bag hidden in the bottom of my chest of draws that I normally reserve for presents. It was present wrapping time so I went through the bag looking for things to wrap, and instead found the tiny tiny shoes that I forgot I even made. 

It was like being hit by a bus, it was like loosing them all over again and I just wanted to die. Just as I thought maybe I was slowly clawing my way back to a new sort of normal I was confronted with the reality of what had happened again.

Those tiny little shoes are all the physical evidence I have of my baby. I didn’t think to keep the pregnancy test,  why would I, I peed on it, I was panicking, it went in the bin.

The first day was a blur of joy, hope and utter utter panic. I felt unprepared and scared and unworthy of the task of motherhood, I had nothing sorted out and no preparations for a baby. 

The second day the fear of being totally unprepared manifested itself in making baby clothes. I had already made clothes for my nephews when they were tiny and the babies and children of people I knew. Baby patterns are so cute and quick to make because they’re so small, and I’ve made so many in the past that it was pretty much an instinct, it was just the next logical step.

I made them blue and yellow, so they were fairly gender neutral,  (but with frills, because let’s be honest I see nothing wrong with a bit of lace here and there). I’m not a fan of the whole pink and blue gender thing.

Baby news = baby clothes

Simple.

Two days after I made those tiny shoes I lost my baby, and I wasn’t thinking about baby shoes anymore.