A strange kind of limbo

Soft play centres can be pretty horrific. Never more so than a wet day in London during school holidays. So when I found myself at one on a rainy summer day with my mum-in-law and son, waiting to miscarry and hoping it wouldn’t happen there, I had to shake my head at the absurdity.

I’ve been in limbo before: waiting to find out whether I was BRCA positive, waiting for my UK Indefinite Leave to Remain application to be approved, waiting for mortgage approval and an offer to be accepted and for the agent to hand us the keys.

But the limbo between being told you’ve had a missed miscarriage, and the appointment to surgically manage everything, is a strange and upsetting period I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

When hubby and I went for our 12 week scan I told him I was feeling anxious and I didn’t know why.

‘What’s there to be anxious about?’ he said, giving my hand a squeeze. ‘We’ve done this before, it’s just a baby’.

Except that it wasn’t.

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How are you really?

How are you? It’s a loaded question when you’re a new mum, and you think to yourself how much do they really want to know?

In my past life I was a successful white collar worker, moving project by project up the corporate ladder. My work had allowed me to visit some remote and beautiful countries, and I went from being an Aussie backpacker in London to a home-owning, loft-converting immigrant with indefinite leave to remain.

A preventative double mastectomy slowed me down in 2013, but following that I got married, we travelled the U.S. for 5 weeks, and I ran my first marathon.

Then I had a baby.

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