The list is populated by all sorts of things, and I skim over each email, checking for things I might want to ask after, or looking for the odd person I might be able to help out.
Frequently, there are things for children; clothes, toys, bikes.
Today, a baby's cot, and my heart and stomach do that strange thing where they feel like they swap places for a second or two.
I'm not in the least someone you can't 'talk about it' to. In fact, I almost welcome direct questions about it. It's the elephant in the room, otherwise, and until it's out there and discussed with people who I know know about it, then I find myself nervous in their presence; talking too fast and needing to find things to do with my hands. And for some reason until the topic comes up, I just can't look people in the eye.
If you asked me, directly, how I am feeling about everything that has happened, I will tell you. I am not ashamed that I am not OK, and that I am spending a lot of time alone. That I am not really 'doing' social activities, and that I hope people understand (and most of them do). I will tell you that I can't do it again; that if I did, and it went badly, I would probably need to be sectioned. And I'm serious about that. I can feel how fragile my grip on this unbalanced version of 'OK' is, and to find myself pregnant with another Down syndrome baby and be faced yet again with the decision of termination would be the end of me.
So why would I do that to myself?
