The pain is heavy.

It is physical.

It is sitting on my chest.

The weight of forever taking my breath.

I don’t just miss my baby boy.

This isn’t just a pregnancy loss.

I miss all of the Leo’s.

I miss the inconsistent sleeper, the newborn crier, the fussy eater.

I miss the cheeky smiler, the hand grabber, the milk-drunk sleeper.

I miss the early roller, the wobbly sitter, the inquisitive learner.

I miss the belly laugher, the splashing bather, the cosy snuggler.

The commando crawler, the sofa surfer, the hesitant walker, the too-fast runner.

I miss the scooter lover, or maybe the balance biker. The swing-me higher, the determined climber.

I miss the Thomas lover, Marvel obsessor, the mini-figure collector, or maybe the toy car driver.

The wannabe Skywalker, the football player, the crazy dancer or the trampoline bouncer.

I miss the first-day-at-school picture poser, the tooth fairy letter writer, the mince-pie-for-Santa maker and the eager egg hunter.

The early reader, the crazy imaginator, the scientific experimenter, the comedic joker, or perhaps the quiet retiring listener.

I miss the excited Beaver, or karate kicker, the wannabe diver or fanatic model maker.

I miss the leading actor or solo singer, the  guitar player, the excited end-of-term performer.

I miss the secondary schooler, the crisp-new-uniform wearer, the missing trainer, and the forgetful homeworker.

The nervous first-residential stayer, the pretend-grown-up behaviour, the friendship fallouts and first secret just-a-friend partner.

The future planner, the I-want-to-be dreamer; an historian, or scientist, a soldier, or teacher, a philosopher, the world famous bass guitarist, or maybe a first-class fine artist.

The school leaver, the apprentice, the university reader or wannabe gap year traveller.

I miss the stroppy teenager, the tech lover, the can-I-grab-a-lift asker.

The nest flier, the career maker, the holidaying traveller, the forever adventurer.

The loved up youth, the dreamer, the proposer, the wedding planner. The home owner, or maybe the persistent studio flat renter.

The birthday forgetter, the dutiful grandparent helper, the policitcal campaigner or community supporter.

The brother, the father, the husband, the nephew, the cousin, the grandson, the family lover.

The newborn, the toddler, the pre-schooler. The primary school leaver, the college joiner, the university graduator, the full-fledged adult, the early mid-life crisis survivor, the middle aged first home owner. The pensioner, the grandfather, the he-lived-a-good-life inspirer.

8 thoughts on “I Miss All Of The Leo’s 

  1. This is… So… I don’t know… Moving. So brave, and so completely relatable. I know Jonah was not as far along gestation wise but I feel this for him too. Thank you for writing this, and everything.

    I don’t know what to say.


  2. Every woman’s fear expressed so perfectly. This feels so raw and open I can almost feel your pain as I sit here with tears running down my cheeks. I hope your words will give comfort to others who so desperately need it in the many moments in life when they’ll shed a tear for the baby, the toddler, the teen they’ll never get to see grow up. And for every mum who’s ever having a ‘bad’ day, time to reflect and be grateful.


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