It seemed to happen around me, to someone else.
It was not how I imagined having a baby would be. None of it was how I imagined it would be.
I imagined getting a huge round pregnant belly.
I imagined buying lovely maternity clothes.
I imagined being farewelled on my last day of work.
I imagined being so over being pregnant and wishing my babies would be born.
I imagined happily shopping for baby clothes and furniture.
I imagined feeling the pains of labour and the hard work of birthing my babies.
I imagined the rush of love as I gazed into my babies eyes for the first time.
I imagined thinking that my babies were the most gorgeous things in the whole world.
I imagined breastfeeding my babies.
I imagined leaving hospital with my babies.
I never imagined I’d spend the last weeks of my pregnancy trying to keep the babies in.
I never imagined making to my third trimester would be cause for celebration.
I never imagined they would be so small, so skinny, so…. ugly.
I never imagined it would be seven days before I would hold my babies.
I never imagined that the ping of a machine would instil such fear.
I never imagined I would breastfeed a machine.
I never imagined I’d rejoice about being able to express 30mls of milk.
I never imagined I would buy my first piece of baby clothing when my babies were eight weeks old.
I never imagined I would know and use so much hospital jargon.
I never imagined the prayers I would say, the crazy deals with the universe I would make, if only they would breath on their own.
I never imagined how lonely Christmas could be.
I never imagined I’d be so happy to hear my babies cry.
I never imagined I would be so lucky… to have two happy, healthy girls, to beat the odds.
I never imagined I would be so grateful.