Just five minutes earlier you lost your very first tooth. You have waited more than a month for this day.  And it is here. But it was more dramatic than you probably thought it would be. Your bleeding mouth scared you and you cried. And cried.

But you stopped when I lifted the camera and told you it would be ok – that tonight, the tooth fairy would come. You moved the bloody tissue, then you smiled the very best smile  you could, with tears still drying on your cheek. There, I could see it…your beautiful gap and guess what?! There is another tooth already peeking through.

Baby girl, you are growing so big.

School starts tomorrow. The husband is at Big Day Out (will he ever grow up?!). I’m home alone with too many books to cover and things to label. Trust me to leave it until the very end. So, it’s home made pizzas for dinner. Make. Your. Own. The two year old wants to make her own way with an apple by the looks of it…

When I started this photo a day journey for 2012 I had envisaged a completely different experience; one filled with anticipation, excitement and of course hope; lots and lots of hope. Hope for the future. Mainly. Naturally, there is always hope and excitement where children are involved, and I am beyond blessed to have enough excitement to last a lifetime. But there really was an extra special reason why 2012 was going to be a great year.

The buzz and excitement of the lead up to the Christmas season was compounded by the news that we were expecting our fourth beautiful baby. Believe me, I was beyond excited (and a little shocked) but so thrilled that I would be blessed with a little sibling to complete our family.

Unfortunately, our sweet bundle of joy, due August, a boy my instincts told me, would not be born to earth.

Today at eight weeks and four days my little bubble left me. With that, I lost a lifetime of hopes; of dreams and a heart full of aspirations for that child. It was as though a slice of my future simply vanished right before my eyes.

Miscarriage is such a cruel, cruel irony. On the one hand you know in your head that your baby was not ready for this world; that it was ‘for the best’. But in your heart of hearts, those words mean nothing. The uniformity of emotion cannot ring true in a situation where head and heart do not agree.

Before Lily was born I suffered a true broken heart, when at ten weeks my first beautiful angel went to heaven. But it is harder this time. So. Much. Harder. I know now looking back, that he (as I again thought ‘it’ was) made way for my sweet Lily and that makes it easier to comprehend in hindsight. But. Now, right now, there is no hindsight. No ‘other’ baby to take the pain away.

It’s funny when I got pregnant I thought to myself, “I’ve suffered my 1:4”, “Surely it won’t happen again?!”. I told myself this because, as any of those who have suffered miscarriage will understand, the thrill and excitement of early pregnancy is marred by the sheer panic it will end like the others before it. I didn’t want to get excited too early. I tried to ‘protect my heart’ where I could, but it’s simply not possible to withhold the excitement that greets you when you see those beautiful pink lines. It’s as though the excitement escalates with each sweet child you have. It is, the simplest and purest form of love at first sight.

I am truly saddened and disappointed. My heart is broken by the fact I will never get to feel him kick, or look into his eyes. I will never hold him in my arms, or hear his little cry. I will never get to see his smile. I never will tickle his toes or watch him grow. I never will. Never.

I thought about keeping ‘him’ to myself. Just for me but then I remembered the pain I felt the first time my heart was broken; the thirst for others’ stories. I needed to understand that it was ok to feel the way I did; that I was allowed to love my baby…that it was a baby. A soul made by me. I want my girls to understand, should they ever be unfortunate enough to experience the pain, that I suffered too; that I truly understand, with all my heart, how their heart aches. I want them to know the pain that drowns their soul will in all likelihood one day be softened by the love felt from the sweet, sweet embrace of another child. I need to tell myself that right now, on this sad day. That I too will feel that embrace some time soon.

Above all, of course, I want my children to know that one day they will meet two sweet angels who never made it into our family, but who were always in my heart. Always.

…well at least she’s found a use for it and it’s regular use too.

This child is a monkey in the making – she’ll swing from anything I swear.

My boy.

Has an affection for a certain iPod.
Caring.
Still thinks he knows it all.
Flicks his hair because it’s way too long.
Smiles with his eyes.
Must have the last word. Every. Single. Time.
Listens to the radio at bed time much too loud.
Loves to jump on the trampoline with his sisters.
Stayed up until 1:00am New Years Day and was so proud of his efforts.
Is still as handsome as ever.
Laughs when he sees me naked.
Is 8.25 years.

…compare it to last year’s picture HERE.

The door handle creaks ever so slightly as the door opens ajar just a smidgen. I know you’re there, waiting for a sign that it’s ok to open the door.
“Hi beautiful girl! You can open the door. It’s alright. Come out”.
And with that, I am greeted by your beautiful, cheeky smile as it peers out from behind the door.
“Did you have a lovely sleep?”
“Yes”
“…and what did you dream about today?”
“Dora”

I love her so.

Her 12 months have been full of delight, happiness and love – I saw it and I felt it. I so enjoy being reunited with the little ones I’ve met before.

Happy birthday sweet Maya. x

And some fun with a very special cake…I can attest it was delightful!

Your forever loving mummy
xx

The fullness that abounds me is unquestionable. I am so very blessed.