Friday, April 24, 2015
One of my friends was pregnant, but lost the baby girl at around 20 weeks. She’s only 22cm head to toe, 5cm across her shoulders.
I know she’s not my baby, and I can’t even begin to imagine what my friend must be going through, but it has really knocked me flat. I found out baby’s name on Sunday just before I got on a train, and cried for the whole 3.5 hour journey.
Because she’s so small, none of the baby clothes in the shops will fit so my friend asked me to crochet an outfit. I found it impossible to imagine the proportions of someone so small, so I made a wrap-around dress that could be widened or tightened as needed.
And also a hat with monkey ears, because until she was named her nickname was Monkey.
Last night I handed the outfit to my friend. I thought I would feel better, but instead a lead weight dropped into my chest and I cried. Luckily I was also with my two best friends, and they hugged me until I stopped crying.
I walked home in the sunshine, saw some kids playing Frisbee on the grass, noticed that the trees outside my flat are starting to blossom. But all of these beautiful things just made my heart hurt. Because this is my conclusion: the older you get, the more you lose.