Our Story — In Loving Memory of Our Babies

I’m sharing our story because our babies deserve to be spoken about and because grief can feel unbearably isolating. If you are reading this and have lost a baby, I hope this helps you feel even the smallest sense of light in the darkness.

In 2022, my partner and I began trying for a baby. We fell pregnant quickly and were shocked to learn we were expecting triplets. At just 8 weeks, we lost them. I needed medical management and later a D&C. We took time to grieve and to rebuild, believing the worst was behind us.

A year later, we were pregnant again. Everything seemed to be going well, though anxiety was never far from my mind.

At our 20-week scan, we learned our baby was measuring small and that I had placenta previa. The weeks that followed were filled with fear.

At 27 weeks, I began bleeding and was admitted to hospital, where a scan showed the cord was failing and I was experiencing a placental abruption. After several frightening weeks on the ward, I had an emergency C-section.

On 06/11/23, at 29 weeks, our beautiful and tiny son, George Christopher Littlewood, was born weighing just 2lb 1oz. Despite his size, he was so incredibly strong, our brave little fighter. We had ten precious days with him in NICU, ten days filled with love, terror, hope, and awe. But due to severe complications, George passed away in our arms at just ten days old. Our hearts shattered.

Grief took over everything. Getting out of bed felt impossible. Our relationship had to weather storms that no one prepares you for. But minute by minute, somehow, we survived.

Before losing George, I never thought counselling was for me and I wasn’t sure what it would look like or whether I’d even know what to say. But after his death, Petals counselling became a lifeline.

I’ll never forget logging into my first session with my counsellor, Liz. I was anxious, broken, completely lost. She helped me learn how to live alongside my grief, instead of being swallowed by it. 

By my final session, I felt heard, validated, and equipped with tools I didn’t know I could ever have.

A year later we tried again. We had a chemical pregnancy, then another positive test. At an early scan, we were told the pregnancy had implanted into my C-section scar and would need to be terminated. We were devastated.

Then, at a follow-up scan, the impossible happened—our baby had moved, and the pregnancy could continue. We were cautiously hopeful, monitored closely with scans every two weeks. But at 17 weeks, our world broke apart again: there was no heartbeat.

I spent two traumatic weeks in the hospital’s bereavement suite. After five rounds of tablets failed, I had no choice but to undergo dangerous emergency surgery, which led to major complications and a double blood transfusion. It was terrifying.

Our daughter, Iris Louise Littlewood, was born sleeping on 19th May 2025. She now rests peacefully with her big brother.

In the raw aftermath of losing Iris, Petals welcomed me back without hesitation. There was such comfort in returning to a space that already knew my story, my heart, and my children. I didn’t have to start from the beginning. I didn’t have to explain who George was. I could simply fall apart and they held me again. That safety has kept me afloat in ways I can never fully explain.

Physically, I’m slowly healing.
Mentally, I’m still finding my way and I’m learning that this is okay.

In total, we have lost six precious babies. Our triplets, our son George, our early loss, and our daughter Iris. Their names and memories are woven into everything we do.

If you’re reading this and wondering whether counselling might help you: please, go. Give yourself that hour. It can become the one place where you don’t have to be brave, the one space where you can say the truth of your pain without judgement.

To Liz, my counsellor: thank you for holding space for me when I couldn’t hold it for myself. For guiding me through the darkest days I have ever known. Your compassion will stay with me always.

To anyone walking a similar path: you are not alone. This grief is messy and endless and unfair. But even in the heaviness, you will smile again, perhaps through tears, perhaps quietly, but light does return. And your babies’ love stays with you, always.

Our journey is still continuing. Medically, we’re undergoing many investigations, and we don’t yet know what the future holds for us. We’re taking each day as it comes, holding onto hope where we can, and carrying our babies with us every step of the way.