A month ago today we found out we were pregnant. It was Easter Saturday. The Killers were playing on the radio when I told Chris. We cried and laughed and hugged and felt excitement, love, hope, contentment. Fear. Disbelief.

You see, we have been waiting for that moment for quite some time. We were pregnant before in August 2018 but we suffered a miscarriage. 20 months later battered and bruised we’d almost given up hope of it happening again. And then this!

We floated through Easter weekend, grinning every time we caught each others eyes. I couldn’t believe how pregnant I felt ( I know right). It felt so right.

We spent the next few days telling close family and some friends. Letting the excitement build. Talking baby names and nursery decorations. Planning our future. It was glorious. We were so happy.

Fast forward to the next Friday. When our nightmare begins and ends exactly a week later at Cramlington hospital where, on my own (no partners allowed because of Covid), wearing a surgical mask (Covid), staring at the hospital ceiling, I was told that I was no longer pregnant. I’ll never forget the kindness of the sonographer, she kept saying to me, I wish I could hug you, I’m so sorry sweetheart. I’ll never forget the feeling of jelly in my legs as I somehow walked out into the sunshine to where Chris was sitting, waiting for me. I’ll never forget his face and me shaking my head and falling into him, crying and saying sorry over and over again as the sun beat down on us.

The last few weeks have been some of the hardest times I’ve known in some time – this lockdown business is rubbish. But being in this situation in lockdown is like living a recurring nightmare. Being so enclosed, unable to get away and distract ourselves. Unable to see people we love and hug all the bad feelings away even temporarily.

We’re so angry. Why us? Why again? What did we ever do to deserve this. All around us everyone seems to be getting on with their lives and we are trying to rebuild ourselves again. It’s taken us a long time to do that after the last time. We’re exhausted of feeling like this. The feeling of having your hopes and dreams taken away in an instant.

We have moments where we laugh again and we forget for a fleeting moment that anything is wrong. And then it hits again like a ton of bricks and we’re back in the sadness and sorrow once more.

I have spent every day since judging myself for this. I feel like such a failure. My body let us down again. And there isn’t anything I can do about that.

I worry for our future, what this means for us, the pressure it puts us under. Last time nearly broke us, will we survive this?

I spend every day bracing myself for that icy dagger feeling of jealousy/envy when I see a pregnant woman, a couple with a buggy, mention of babies or pregnancy on social media, an advert about baby milk on the TV. That feeling of pure unfairness, the pain. It should be US. The inevitable feeling of guilt that comes soon after when I realise that everyone deserves that happiness and who are we to decide otherwise.

It’s hard to talk about it – miscarriage is just one of those subjects isn’t it. You can see people visibly recoil when you say it out loud. It’s almost like you’re making others feel uncomfortable, unintentionally of course.

It has taken me a while to write this because talking about this openly feels too real. If I say it out loud, it’s true. It’s happened. It’s happening.

I realise that this is a bit of a ramble – lots of feelings and probably too much honesty thrown on a page in no particular order, but I write in the hope (like last time) that if there are people out there going through the same thing or who have done in the past that they might seek some comfort in what I’m saying. That it might make someone feel normal to see and hear my ramblings. My fears.

Right now I can’t begin to go past today, every day is an uphill struggle. Sometimes it’s an achievement to both of us that we got out of bed and made a cup of coffee, let alone that we’re back at work and trying to move forward. As always, we’re doing it together, one day at a time. Hoping that time will make it better, easier.

We love you our baby bean, thank you for giving us that short time of happiness. For that we will always be grateful.