It’s quite ironic that I’m back to counting in weeks.

Work is proving to be a huge distraction. It’s been ridiculously busy since I came back and it gives me something to fill my time with at weekends when Lee is out shooting weddings. I can paint on my face and stick on a smile to get through meetings. They won’t know I’ve cried all the way there and back.

Thursday I saw a client who I’d last seen a week before we lost the girls. It took me 20 minutes to build up the courage to go into their offices after crying in the car.
Should I be back so soon? Probably not, but what’s the alternative? If I was employed I’d have been entitled to maternity leave, but sitting around at home was making me worse. I’m getting overly anxious about stuff and easily worried. A huge banking issue my first week back pretty much gave me a mini breakdown one evening.
Everyone wants me to be normal, so I try my hardest to be that. Anyone reading my Twitter or LinkedIn posts would see the confident me. But work is a “safe” place, I can put up my barriers and plod on.
So are things better 8 weeks on?
No. Not better, just different. There’s a sadness hanging over everything we do.
I still cry every day.
I still don’t sleep.
I still wake up and think they’re here.
I still haven’t seen my friends with children or friends that are pregnant.
I still don’t respond to most texts or messages because I don’t know what to say.
I still blame myself.
Facebook has become a no-go place for me. I have to check in occasionally for work stuff, but there’s too many photos and reminders, same with Instagram. I don’t check my phone as much as I did.  You can be having a “good” day at work, when you’re floored by a message and you’re suddenly rushing to the toilet in tears.
People say that time helps. I think time makes it worse. People move on, but we stand still.

Sunday we went to look at cars. My mini is dying and we’d planned  to get a bigger 4×4 for the girls. Now it’s just for the dogs.

We’d told the salesman we had dogs and needed a car with a bigger boot. He said if we’d told him we had 2 dogs and a couple of kids then he’d advise we get the bigger version. I have no idea how I didn’t burst into tears. They were in my eyes, and Lee couldn’t speak either.
Monday I had an MRI. I broke down at the sight of myself in hospital gown and then I sat outside The Rosie and sobbed on a bench like a nutcase. Then I had to pull myself together and go to Tesco on my own, hoping the whole time I wouldn’t bump into anyone I know.
Wednesday was the 2 year anniversary of losing our first baby. It was also the day we received the girls postmortem results and
collected their ashes. It’s too soon to decide what we’ll do for them, but for now they are home and that feels right.