Dinosaur hat

Morrison’s baby section, lovingly placed opposite the self service till which I frequent regularly now interups what used to be a calming and enjoyable lunchtime sabbatical.

When I’m getting my lunch it never fails to find new ways of stabbing me in the tender spot where my heart is still trying to stitch itself back together. 

Currently there is, in the little boys section, a small knitted green hat shaped to look like a dinosaur head, complete with big cute eyes and little spikes.

There is a matching coat and gloves, and even little winter boots in the same green to complete the tiny outfit. But it was the hat that caught my eye.

Vivid green with big yellow eyes and an endearing smile, I could see it so clearly on the head of a litttle girl or boy, my little girl or boy,  at about the age of four running around in the park. In my mind I caught the flash of green, I saw a navy wool coat and green welly boots, brown curly hair like their parents. With a face that I can’t quite capture in my mind, with features wich will forever be just outside the grasp of my imagination because I can never know for sure.

I wanted that hat. I wanted to pass on my over enthusiastic love of dinosaurs to my child, I wanted to pull it onto a tiny mop-haired head and wiggle it over reluctant ears to frame rosy cheeks. I wanted it so keenly then, in that moment, that my heart wasn’t quite up to date with the fact that there will not be a four year old child to wear that hat, they are only in my head. Forever stuck at sort of nearly school age because I just can’t imagine them any older, if they’re older it’s no longer possible to imagine them as neither male or female.

I had to will myself not to just go over there, when my foolish heart was screaming buy it, buy it, but my head knew that there is no way that I can let myself, because then what will I do with it. It won’t fill the gap in my heart. 

I tried bargaining, ‘what if I bought it for Mrs.Roberts baby?’ But I knew it wouldn’t really be for her baby, it would be for mine, and then how could I give that up too, when I already have so little of them.

It’s still there, or at least an identical piece of stock is there, hanging on the rail, just at the end of the isle and still clearly visible every time I pay or leave the shop. I have stood and looked at it since, as sort of a test to prove to myself that I could do this, I don’t touch it, but I keep looking at it, like some sort of talisman.

I guess it stems from some sort of need to prove to myself that I can survive this, that if I test myself this far today maybe I can go further tomorrow. And if I can get further tomorow, then one day I might think to myself:

‘Here I am. I made it.’

Love always, 

Surviving Miscarriage Together x