I feltthe
samerush
oflovefor
herthat
anymother
wouldREAL LIFE
A scanof
Siannain
thewomb
Mygirlwill
neverbe
forgottenpregnancy like any other.
I even had a baby shower
with my friends.
We ate, laughed and I was
overjoyed to open their
thoughtful gifts.
There were useful things
such as nappies and bottles,
as well as sweet gifts for
Sianna, like toys, blankets,
outfits and even a cute little
Mickey Mouse costume.
‘See how much everyone
already loves you,’ I said,
stroking my bump as I packed
them all away later.
I also spent two months, all
by myself, preparing Sianna’s
nursery in my rented home.
I decorated the walls with
pictures of cute baby animals,
organised all her outfits in the
dresser and set up her cot.
I wasn’t in denial. I knew
that the chances were my
baby girl would never sleep
in that room that I’d
lovingly decorated.
I just felt I had to do it.
I wanted to celebrate my
miracle, like every otherpregnant woman does.
It’s what mummies do.
I just had to prepare
my heart for the most
terrible thing imaginable at
the same time.
As the pregnancy continued,
I loved every second, even the
morning sickness and aches.
The contractions
began when I was
at church in March
2016, so I was raced
to hospital.
‘Don’t let her
come until I get
there!’ squealed
Mum over
the phone.
This was it, the
moment of truth.
I’d carried Sianna for 255
days, and I desperately hoped
I’d get to meet her.
But I had to shut out the
negative thoughts.
Arriving at the hospital,
doctors could still detect a
heartbeat on the monitor.
But while I waited in myprivate room, the tiny sliver
of hope I’d been holding onto
slipped away as I somehow
knew that Sianna was no
longer with me.
She’d passed. I just knew it.
I was taken into theatre for a
Caesarean, and midwives
confirmed the worst.
Sianna arrived
stillborn. She’d
passed away 30
minutes before
her birth.
I’d spent all these
months preparing
myself for this
moment, but that’s
when I realised that
I could only prepare
myself so much.
I broke down, pain tearing
through my body.
But I felt calm again when
I laid my eyes on my beautiful
little girl.
I felt the same rush of love
for her that any mother would
feel for their baby.
Holding her in my arms,I was shocked when her
little brain suddenly slipped
out of the hole in the back of
her head.
But I didn’t make a fuss.
I just quickly tucked it back in,
before a nurse helped me tape
it shut.
‘I love you,’ I whispered to my
gorgeous girl.
For the next three days, my
parents and I showered Sianna
with love.
I cuddled her, talked to
her, rocked her and showed
her to visitors.
My parents also dressed her,
and we took over 160 photos
with her.
I never wanted to let her go.
I was honoured to be
Sianna’s mummy, and always
would be.
The grief of losing her was so
hard, though.
Looking at the nursery I’d
spent months decorating filled
me with pride, but also left me
in floods of tears.
My girl would never get to
sleep in that crib or wear her
Mickey Mouse outfit.
But I couldn’t get rid of
them, they were too special.
Sianna’s funeral was so
hard, but I couldn’t have been
more proud.
Although it was a struggle,
I managed to say a few words- promising my daughter
that, although she was gone,
her memory would never
leave me.
After that, despite my grief,
I had to find a way to carry on.
In November 2016, I was
lucky to meet an incredible
man, Toni Hinson, 23, who
helped me come to terms with
my pain.
He was so understanding - and when we married in
February this year, we had a
photo of Sianna at the altar.
I have two photo albums
and two scrapbooks full of
those pictures, and I love
sharing them with people who
ask about her.
Sianna would have turned
3 this year, and I still wonder
how she’d look and act.
Despite the heartbreak of
my first pregnancy, Toni and
I are looking forward to
starting our own family.
But whatever happens,
Sianna will never be forgotten.
She never got a chance to
take a single breath but she
changed my life forever.
The miracle girl who made
me a mummy at last.