When Jude was born our world changed – as any first time parents’ life does. Because of Jude’s condition we had to learn how to care for him medically as well as learning the art of being a mummy and a daddy.
Our tiny house was filled with items to help Jude – a suction machine, syringes in all different sizes, oxygen tanks, medication and a continuous feed machine once I could no longer feed him myself.
When Jude died everything was taken. I hung on to a couple of plastic syringes and a spare tip for the suction machine that we pretended was a sword in his little hands.
Once he was gone physically the house felt empty. Obviously. Because Jude wasn’t there.
But not only was it empty from my beautiful baby not being there and from all the stuff that was taken, it was empty from the chat we’d focused on for the last 20 weeks and 2 days.
The chat about muscles. The chat about medication. The chat about gettting our baby to sleep. The chat about nappy contents. The chat about milk. The chat about his expressive face.
And the chat where we called each other “mummy” and “daddy”.
I almost didn’t know what to call my husband. It felt strange and uncomfortable to use his name. He was still a daddy, and I still a mummy but I felt I had no choice. Every time I spoke my husband’s name it hurt.
Over time I got used to it, and once Carter was born I could call Glenn “daddy” again. It doesn’t fill the void though. The void is still there. Of course it is, because my precious Jude isn’t here.
Miss you Poop. Always. Love your mummy xxxxx