What a difference a year makes

At exactly 5am, on this very day last year, I took a test that would change my life forever.

Two pink lines and there she was. Just a tiny speck, beginning to make herself comfortable in the confines of my belly.

Surprised. Joy. Excitement. Elation. Nervousness. Anxiety. Anticipation. Expectation. Happiness.

I never imagined it would end like this:

Hell. Heartache. Pain. Grief. Anger. Bitterness. Jealousy. Shock. Numbness. Rage. Sadness.

How the hell did this happen to me? To me - takes good care of herself, does all the right things, plays by the rules - me? And my baby! It is not just me, Hope is the one who lost her life. It is Hope I am most sorry for. She's the one who did not get to live and be welcomed in to loving family unit that was so ready for her. So ready.

I think when you first find yourself pregnant, if you dare to dream, you imagine yourself one year down the track holding a three month old. And that's exactly what I did. I peered in to my future, and tried hard to see the three of us here, happy and content, laughing and enjoying life. Preparing for baby's first Christmas, the first baby in our family. How wonderful it would be.

The thing was, I never really could imagine it. I could sort of imagine myself being big and pregnant, but I never could imagine the baby. Almost as if it was too good to be true.

And in the end, it was. The pregnancy was too good to be true. Hope was too good to be true.

I wanted to be pregnant for so long, as I was so curious to know what it felt like to be pregnant - to grow and carry a small life inside of me. And in the end, that's all I got. A pregnancy. Nine months. That was it. This is not what I signed up for when I took that test.

I got to experience it all though, and it was fabulous. Hardly any of the bad side effects. Baby played nice and gave us two wonderful ultrasounds where she rolled over when necessary so the ultrasound technician could get a good look at all the right bits.

I would read my weekly emails telling me what my body and baby were up to and smile, as it was as if it was written about me. I truly did have the textbook pregnancy and never for one second didn't stop to appreciate just how lucky I was.

I made it to the end, then sailed past my due date. I went in to labour naturally and it was still all so perfect. Until it ended. Until somebody turned out all the lights. And in the end, I still tragically had what can only be described as a pretty good labour and birth - only thing missing, a heartbeat.

I am the unluckiest lucky girl I know.

So today I sit here alone in my house. Husband at work. Family out Christmas shopping. Friends at one of the many first birthday parties I am simply unable to attend. Rain still pelting down. Garden blooming. Dog sleeping on the couch beside me. Un-showered, and it is lunch time. Writing and reading. Thinking and waiting. But no baby. No three month old having her nap. No three month old who wakes wanting to be fed. No three month old having a bit of tummy time on the floor with me while the dog tries to lick her face. No three month old fascinated by the Christmas tree lights. No presents for a three month old under the tree we don't even have. No baby. No Hope.

I'd like to think there is still hope, though.