I’ll start by being honest; I had wanted to blog more during this pregnancy; much more. I thought I would be able to have afforded myself the time and headspace to fill this corner of the internet with a comprehensive perspective of what it feels like to finally be pregnant four years after the death of our son; particularly given that we’ve all been locked up at home for months. Then it dawned on me, that I have always had the luxury of being able to write about my experiences for this blog retrospectively. Always giving myself time to fully understand those emotions and thoughts that I have waded through, before even coming close to attempting to put them into any kind of readable format for the consumption of others. To be in the thick of those kind of intense emotions once more has floored me. I had hoped I could put pen to paper (or in this case, fingers to keyboard) in an attempt to connect with others who might be on a similar journey, but, as of yet, the ability to do that has escaped me. So, excuse me if this blog is a little jarring, raw or unpalatable for those who have never experienced deep grief, or the fear and anxiety that seem to run so succinctly beside it during a pregnancy after a loss.