Never think at 4am.

Because you know, whatever you think, it won't be rational or erudite. I'm seeing a whole lot of the wee small hours right now, thanks to a baby sat firmly and very comfortably, thank you very much, on my bladder plus the whole entertaining rigmarole of trying to turn over in bed. I'm at the point when, if this was a "normal" pregnancy, people would be joking about the wakefulness being "good practice" for baby coming. Except, that even in jest, I can't let people assume that a living, wakeful baby might be a foregone conclusion.

During the day, my grief is muted now. I've learned to let it co-exist alongside all the other emotions. Mostly, my days are okay - even good and happy. It's at 4am that I realise how close to the surface the pain and the horror and the anguish of losing Emma really is - especially right now. It manifests itself as utter and abject fear for her baby brother or sister. Last night I was very suddenly and completely awake at 4am absolutely convinced that this baby had died too. I was utterly paralysed by the terror of going through the loss of a child again. Even when Jurgen tried to reassure me by moving and shuffling and prodding me insistently I couldn't quite shake off the residue of fear. I have felt it all day today, despite good movements from an endlessly obliging fetus.

I am just three weeks away from the date my OB has proposed for my planned section. It really can't come soon enough.

Lucia Paz

Angie,

I just wanted to add my voice to the many speaking your daughter's beautiful name and remembering her - and all of you - with love.

33 weeks.

We're growing, Jurgen and I. Baby is growing right as he or she should. Serial growth scans suggest a baby of "good" size - not too small, not too big. I'm growing at a slightly more alarming rate - measuring 37 weeks at 33. Note to pregnant self - "No more mince pies - you are pregnant, not Father Christmas."

Physically, I have developed pelvic pain - a brand new symptom for my fourth pregnancy, which means I have the advanced pregnancy "ship in sail" waddle down to a tee - and occasionally I just lock up all altogether and can't move! I don't care. I continue to feel absolute gratitude for this gorgeous child.

Emotionally, it's as I expected. Both Dave and I have felt the anxiety levels ramp up these past weeks. We continue to cherish Jurgen and sometimes (occasionally) dare to talk about *when* he/she comes home rather than *if*. But neither of us sleep well and I do believe this poor baby (along with all other rainbow siblings I'm sure) is the inhabitant of the most prodded belly ever.

But we chug along, taking it a day at a time. I'm at the stage where I'll be having weekly checks with either my midwife or my OB - and it isn't long until B-day really, even if it feels as though every day is a lifetime.

And the world turns ...

In a couple of hours it will be a milestone date again - fourteen months on the fourteenth. In a couple of weeks it will be Christmas again. Things move on apace and I wonder if I have too. I suppose I have in some ways. Crying is no longer a daily occurrence and the anger is all but gone (sweet relief). I am fumbling my way towards some sort of reconciliation in my faith - tentatively and in a piecemeal fashion - but it feels like progress.

But, I still wake up some days and it hurts. I couldn't explain why yesterday was so much harder than the days preceding it - there was no obvious trigger but there it was. Grief - sharp, bitter, uncomfortable and draining. Sometimes it's a relief to know the tears can still come - they remind me of how much I love my baby. How much I miss her. How much I still want her back.

Not many words.

I just don't seem to have many words at the moment so the gaps here have lengthened again. I can feel myself drawing in as I prepare for another Christmas without my youngest daughter. I have been doing well - I have shopped and wrapped and written Christmas cards and made plans for the festive season. I have even found myself looking forward to parts of it. We put our tree up yesterday. Last year my sister gave us tree ornaments for each of our children with their names engraved. Putting up Emma's ornament prompted mixed feelings. I felt the same pleasure I felt last year, to realise that someone had thought of her. At the same time I feel such sadness thinking of the bright stockings upstairs, already stuffed with gifts for Ben and Lucy. Emma has one, small but beautiful tree decoration. We will find other ways to include her - a gift to charity in her name perhaps - but suddenly her absence, always there, feels bigger all over again.

***

I don't really have many words to describe how my pregnancy feels right now either. We're as ready as we're able to be. Clothes and bedding are washed and hospital bag supplies purchased. I don't have the same sense of something imminent and bad that I had last time but I still have no strong sense of this little being who is so physically present within me. I am in love but I couldn't tell you I had a strong sense of the gender of this baby or that I have any true belief that we'll get to bring him/her home with us. Just hope. I am anxious about the birth of this baby. I have not really had anything that would constitute a "good" experience of giving birth. I'm hoping our bereavement midwife will be able to help a little when we see her this week.

***

In the absence of anything profound to say, I thought I'd include this song. Our nephew stayed with us this weekend and he played this a lot. Just after Emma died, my best friend sent me a link to the song saying how much it reminded her of Emma and I: