Tick. Tock.

10 hours until Dan and I head into the hospital for my post-natal check up and to discuss the results from Robyn’s autopsy.

Dan’s gone to bed early.

Me, myself and I don’t tend to make for a very stable mental state. I hate being alone at the best of times, when I’m nervous about something then I go a little bit psycho.

And I’m super nervous about this.

Best outcome – They know exactly what caused her death, it was some 1 in 20,000,000 freak accident and will never happen again, more babies will be in our future.

Average outcome – They don’t know what caused her death, but nothing is ringing any alarm bells regarding having another child.

Worse outcome – They know what caused it, there is a high likelihood of it happening again, in fact, the boys were complete miracles. No more babies.

I keep repeating in my head how lucky I am to have Declan and Connor, how I already have far more than some people do. But the fact that in ten hours there’s a possibility that someone is going to tell me that there won’t be another pregnancy and another, living, child in my future scares the crap out of me. A few weeks ago I couldn’t even process that as a possibility, and now it’s completely consuming my thoughts. This goes far beyond wanting another child, I NEED another child, children. I feel like a chunk of me is missing, and I know it’s not going to be filled by another baby, but I know it will do a pretty good job of starting to patch it up.

I’m just petrified now that it isn’t going to be a possibility.

Time for bed.

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