After I lost Toby, I found it hard to get out of bed or take an interest in anything. I could just about get my daughter to nursery but that was about it. I started searching the internet for forums and websites about stillbirth and miscarriage because I couldn't talk to anybody about what I had been through.
Like most of my friends, I waited till my mid thirties to procreate. My body was more than ready, but mentally I was just about there. Whatever medicine, or medics tell us, no woman can put down roots until she is ready. And at 35, I was only just about there, but I also knew the risks that being 'older' would bring with it.
My miscarriages remain unexplained. It could be bad luck. It could be a chromosomal issue. We might never know. And that for me is the worst development. I know, it is ridiculous to want something to be wrong. But I wanted there to be something wrong with me so that there was a reason for the miscarriages.
Our friends went to our house and hid the pregnancy books, which I'd been reading just the night before we lost her. They took down the congratulations cards from the bookcase. My husband steeled himself to put the little pink dresses and frilly babygrows in the attic, so I wouldn't see them in the spare room.