Hollie had seen all the images of happy, smiling families talking to pregnant bumps.
Just like in the pictures, she said hello to her baby in the womb, let Dad sing to her too.
But mostly she spoke to her bump in a way she couldn't speak to anyone else.
I begged you to be fine, please. I begged you to stop kicking me. I begged you to kick me again, when I could not hear your heartbeat beat.
I'd only seen those photographs in parents' magazines.
The ones where pregnant woman sits on couch, hugs her bump, glances down.
Family wraps around her, maybe toddler kisses belly.
Daddy sings a song. Everyone is happy.
Full of expectations, bliss.
Talking to her pregnant bump through loving, longing lips.
And yes I had that too.
He sang to you. They said hello.
I'm sure your eyes and ears perked up,
when you put a face to voices you'd only heard inside me.
But mainly, if I'm honest,
I rubbed my bump and cried,
told you I was really scared,
told you it was difficult sometimes, this being pregnant.
I begged you to be fine, please.
I begged you to stop kicking me,
then begged you to kick again
when I could not hear your heart beat.
I begged you not to come to soon.
I begged you not to come too late.
I begged you not to rip my skin apart
the day you left me.
I said 'I鈥檓 your mother and you need to turn around now
because your head is pointing up and it should be pointing down now
and I've heard a breach birth isn't fun'.
But mostly, mostly, mostly,
I begged you to forgive me,
because 'I鈥檝e no idea', I whispered
'how to be a mum'.
