I’m starting to see glimpses of it – the dream.

The fog in my head has lifted just enough that I can look at Freya and marvel at the fact that she is here. I can laugh at her antics now. Tickle her tiny toes, and kiss her round cheeks. I sing and bounce and rock her and feel involved and not as if the world is ending any second.

On New Year’s day Jo took Freya for two hours and I spent them at Starbucks writing down my birth story, words pouring out of me as fast as they could. I cried at the hard parts, silently and while hiding behind my chocolate milk foam cup, but mostly I was glad to have it written down. I will eventually share it, but for now it’s mine. I’m hoarding the experience, rethinking it still, my mind touching it and reshaping it every day.

It’s been seven weeks. My body has recovered enough that my milk production is finally improving. We still need to give Freya donor milk, but we might be able to stop it soon. I feel both scared and overjoyed at the thought. Seven weeks of struggle without knowing whether it would work out have left their mark, and I am hesitant to hope too much, even though it seems like it might just work out.

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Slowly, she starts sleeping a little more. We manage to eat one meal without being interrupted by screaming, then another, and the world stops spinning quite so desperately out of control. We even manage to host a small party and go out to brunch! Things that seemed utterly impossible even a week a ago are now within our reach again, and it makes us feel so much more human.

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I will write Freya’s birth story someday. But right now… I can’t. Parts of her birth were beautiful, and wonderful, and make me so proud. Other parts were emotional and difficult, and ultimately very traumatic.  

The days after were incredibly hard. If I’m being honest, every day still is. Freya is a lovely baby, but my body has done a huge job bringing her into this world and I underestimated just how weak I would be after what happened.

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Here she finally is, our wonderful baby Sunshine…

We have named her Freya <3

She was born at 42+1 weeks on November 18th, 11:58am, weighing 4056grams/9lbs, measuring 54cm.

All three of us are doing well, but we’re absolutely exhausted! I will definitely write up our birth story, but for now we are just holding her a lot and getting used to our life as a family of three.


I quite fancied having a Halloween baby. I imagined her as a new-born pink little thing lying inside a pumpkin for pictures. And oh, the skeleton onesies, the baby zombie costumes! The fabulous birthday parties we could throw her later on, both Jo and I also dressing up, the fake blood and spiders and weird treats. We could invite her whole class and make the flat into a haunted house!

So I tried my hardest to relax on the day and even used my special birth-inducing Lush bath bomb, but Halloween came and went.

Fine, I thought, November 1st is a holiday in Belgium, that would be fun too, she’d always be off school for her birthday. Or the 3rd, she’d be a due date baby. Or hey, the 5th is Guy Fawkes Night in the UK, bonfires and candied apples and fireworks plus rebellion, I bet she’d love that! I went to a special yoga class the night before, ate a whole pineapple, and bounced on my yoga ball trying to get things going. But… nothing happened. No baby.

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