Today, exactly 22 years ago, my one day old baby sister lost her brave fight and passed away.
I used to find myself thinking about her at strange times before I became a Mummy to my two angels but now I think about her even more.
I wonder if this makes me selfish. That now I know how it feels I take time to remember her more than I used to.
And can I call it remembering when I dont have any real memory of her. I was nearly 4 years old when she was born.
I vividly remember dancing with joy with my older sister when we were told we had a baby sister, I was so excited.
Then my next memory is of my Mum being home from the hospital but she hadnt brought the baby with her and she was so sad.
I held S after she had passed away but I dont remember it. I went to her funeral but I dont remember it.
Still I am so glad my parents felt it right to include us. I dont know why Ive kept the memories I have and why I lost the memories of holding her and of her funeral. But I am still glad I wasnt left out. Maybe my mind chose to remember the memories that evoke the strongest emotions.
That extreme happiness and then extreme sadness. Im pretty sure I didnt fully understand that my sister had passed away when I held her and probably didnt know what a funeral was. But I knew how happy I was to be a big sister and how sad I was when I saw my Mum so sad.
Suddenly realising S wouldve had her 22nd birtday yesterday brings me to suddenly realise that tomorrow I wouldve been 37 weeks pregnant. Or on Wednesday I wouldve been 18 weeks pregnant.
Somewhere between losing Pup and here I have stopped obsessively counting the weeks. I had to go so far as to look it up on my calendar.
Not that Ive forgotten a thing about my angels, far from it. How it felt to carry them is something I miss every second. Their due dates are forever tattoed in my brain and across my heart.
But somehow it seems I have started to live again, without needing the comfort of counting the weeks of my non existing pregnancy.
I think this is a good sign, a healthy thing. But I cant help but feel guilty.
Will my angels think I dont care anymore. Will they think they dont matter to me anymore.
I know that is not the case but it just feels wrong.
The real case is that me and P have been trying to use losing our angels as a motivation to make the biggest leap of our lives and invest in a proper family home.
We own our little 2 bedroom house, but it is exactly that, little.
It is not big enough for what we desperately want, a family.
When I was pregnant we thought it would do. But now these cruel 6 months have given us a chance to try and buy a house bigger than we ever thought we could afford.
It is our dream house. Everything we have ever wanted in a house. Perfect for having kids in and perfect for Maisie.
So I am reluctant to invest too much emotion in it right now.
We are 25 days from finding out if it is really and treuly ours despite our offer being accepted and I find myself holding back from being excited.
If this year has taught me anything it has taught me that things that seem too good to be true usually are.
I know how it feels to have your dreams ripped away and I do not want to go there again.
I am not for one second comparing the soul destroying pain of losing a baby to not getting the dream house. I am not that shallow.
But the right family home is important to us, because family is important to us. And we want to do everything we can do to be able to enjoy our children when we are lucky enough to be blessed with their arrival.
So while my body may have robbed me of control over starting a family we hope to get back some control in choosing where we start our family.
I only hope this year ends in a happier way than it started.