This pregnancy is running two weeks behind Florence's, so I often find myself comparing the two. I guess I would've done that whenever we'd got pregnant again,but it seems more poignant at times.
Yesterday was Eden's birthday, and just like last year she asked to go to Pizza Express for her birthday dinner. Just like last year, we had the same table, I had nausea and ordered the most boring pizza I knew I could stomach.
Last year I sat there thinking that this year we'd have a baby at the table too. This year I sat and hoped we'd have a baby there next year.
Our waitress was blooming in pregnancy, and I envied her.

After confirming this pregnancy with a home test at 3am one Friday night eight or so weeks ago, I lay awake in bed making a mental list of everything I knew of that could go wrong in the next nine months, and believe me, when you read as many babyloss blogs as I do, that list is very very long.

I'm trying hard to take each day at a time. Florence's peadiatrician asked how many weeks I would be when the inquest date arrives, and I had no idea, I just hadn't considered that far ahead, and I still haven't.

Today I felt happiness, real proper happiness, it surprised me,I didn't know it was possible.
I've been grasping tightly to some news over the past few weeks, struggling with the chaos of emotions, the nightmares, the worry.
I've compossed this post a million times in my head, not knowing what the outcome would be, and not knowing how I would feel writing this down.
All those imagined compositions are gone, because all I can tell you today is that I felt joy, simple joy, I didn't know I could.
Now I'm holding tight to the joy, and hoping, hoping, hoping.