Nine Months


Nine months was all the time required to make 7 pounds 2 ounces of perfect baby girl from scratch. Nine months to form a heart that should have continued to beat for decades. To grow the lungs that should have inhaled and exhaled hundreds of millions of times. To make the eyes that should have seen all the wonders of the world. To create the eggs that would have sparked new life and the uterus where my grandchildren should have grown. Nine months was all the time required to make Isobel. 

Nine months was more than sufficient to make me a mother, and Simon the father of my child. To let us joyfully wave goodbye to the fertility problems and the uncertainty of whether or not we would have children, to know that our struggles in that regard were finished – the hard part was over. Nine months to plan the rest of our lives together as parents, as a family. To create a thousand day dreams about our baby and the life we would have together. 

How can it be then, that nine months is not remotely enough time to accept that Isobel is gone and our dreams of her are lost? Not nearly enough time to accept that her heart is not beating, her lungs are not breathing, her eyes are not seeing and that unknowable generations of people will not exist because she is not here. 

It is not enough time to understand either how this happened, or why. In nine months, I haven’t been able to stop my mind from returning to the thought that I am responsible. 

Nine months is not long enough that the waves of grief are not still overwhelming, that the sadness is not still profound, that the hopelessness that comes with having a problem than can never be solved, is not still absolute. 

Nine months has not been enough time to stop the spontaneous flashbacks of ‘that’ moment and all the horrors that followed. Not enough time to settle the nightmares about destruction and death. 

The nine months that have passed have not softened the pain of pregnancy and baby triggers, of seeing mothers and daughters, of hearing a little girl say “Mummy”; of being left out in the cold, looking in at the warmth of the life I should be living. 

These nine months have not allowed me to find the parts of myself that I lost; my naivety, my optimism, my easy confidence. Nor have they been long enough to let me leave behind the unwanted traits that I gained; my resentment for the happiness of others, my disdain for non ‘life or death’ struggles, my irritability and quick temper. 

How can it be that nine months, such a finite amount of time, allows for the creation of something so perfect and the formation of a bond so strong, that – from what I read – no amount of time exists that can fully erase the pain of losing it? 


7 thoughts on “Nine Months

  1. Sending you hugs, I hate those stupid triggers!. I want to scream at all those new mums and tell them how lucky they are and how jealous I am!

    How unfair it is,that we also went through pregnancy, and labour but instead of getting a precious baby at the end of it, we got ours stolen away from us forever. Just as we realised how much we couldn’t bear to be without them, we are without them forever 😦

    Why do they get their baby?And we don’t get ours? If I am ever lucky enough to have a rainbow, I worry that I will then be a trigger to others. Then I try and remember these new mothers/fathers are not trying to hurt me (even though I think they are! And I hate them for it!!!! Their ‘perceived smugness’ winds me up)

    Thinking of you and your beautiful little girl xxx hope rainbow is doing well xxx


  2. I’m up unable to sleep thinking about my angel. I actually searched to see if you posted anything. I always relate to your blog. It gives me some comfort knowing I’m not the only one who will grieve my child forever. Not that I wish this upon anyone….but it’s a lonely place to be a grieving mother

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Awww Shelly those sleepless nights are the worst and that sense of isolation is so intense. I know exactly what you mean. I’m so sorry that sadly you relate to what I write, I wish you didn’t have to, but I’m really glad that it helps you to feel a little less alone with your grief. Lots of love and wishing you some restful sleep xx


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