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.