Life is like a cappuccino

Imagine you have a cappuccino in a glass mug. You can see how the drink is structured. Coffee underneath the froth. It’s the best way I can describe how I’m feeling at the moment. There’s so much that’s laying beneath the surface.


Froth: I got word yesterday that my good friend had her baby on Sunday night. I was genuinely excited when I got her text message and I even did a little excited skip as I walked along reading the text message (and tried to not fall down the stairs that I was approaching). She had a baby boy, named Jack. How lovely 🙂 I’m really looking forward to visiting them tomorrow.

Coffee: I get to go and visit my friend’s baby in the hospital that I should have given birth in, and meet the baby that she has, while wishing the situation was reversed. This should have been me 9 months ago with my first baby, and then again this July with my second. I’m very aware of what I don’t have and that my arms will be full of another family’s happiness.


Froth: Today my boss and his wife are going for their 12 week ultrasound.

Coffee: I have only ever had one ultrasound when pregnant when things were okay. So, all in all, my good ultrasound strike rate is 1:9. I could possibly count my first ultrasound with my first pregnancy, but while the baby was healthy the sonographer discovered a small subchorionic haematoma which went away by itself within a week, so I’m not sure if I should class that as a good or bad ultrasound. Either way the strike rate is less than desirable. There are so many things that people take for granted. I would love to actually be able to go in for a 12 week ultrasound and have things be healthy. I would love to have the whole pregnancy go smoothly and actually give birth to a healthy, live baby. I feel like a 12 week scan is something elusive that I may not ever be able to achieve. I don’t want to see any pictures from the scan today. Yes, it’s a happy time, I’m glad they’ve reached this point, but don’t put that picture in front of me. And warn me when you announce things because I will probably want to leave the room, and people will ask me when I’m next, and I will need to exercise a lot self control so I don’t abuse anyone.


Right now I really just wish people knew what was going on so that they could leave me alone in my thoughts and my grief. That way I wouldn’t have to feel like I have to be happy for people if I didn’t feel like it. And of course that’s totally selfish of me but sometimes life is easier on my own terms. Sometimes it’s helpful for people to know so that when we go into our fortress and put our drawbridges up, they know why.


Author: thegriefdiariesblog

A borderline hyperactive Personal Trainer, navigating the process of starting a family.

3 thoughts on “Life is like a cappuccino”

  1. I’m sorry you’re going through this. It sounds miserable. I have had my share of moments – it’s inescapable at work and in my family – and the only way I’ve found to deal with it is to try and pretend it doesn’t bother me at all. I’m not very good at pretending though! Sending you hugs xx

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I’m sorry. I hope your time comes soon. I hate insensitive questions too, such as “when are you going to have kids?” which I often get asked. If only it were something easy and not something that for me is more like an “if” that I don’t know whether it will happen or not

    Liked by 1 person

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