By this I mean; running out of sh*t to do in this house.  I feel like I have painted (and re-painted) almost everything in the house.  I have cushions for my cushions to sit on.  I am forever doing the “little things” that are just slowly starting to irritate me.  I mean; is it possible to actually run out of stuff to do? (Please, don’t answer that)

I think this one is about to get as “ranty” as I’m ever going to get.  I’ll try to keep the noise down, I promise.  As many of you will already know from my previous blogs; we suffered another loss in January this year, at fourteen weeks pregnant.  Another baby who was set to be “incompatible with life”.  Our rainbow after Teddy just wasn’t meant to be; not this time anyway.

People who know me well, know that I knit. When Eleanor told me that she was pregnant, I was immediately in full knitting mode. Whilst knitting all the little clothes and the blanket I made for Teddy (although at the time we didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl) I felt that I was putting all my love and hope for that new grandchild in every stitch. I think that those who make and craft, whatever it is they are making, will understand this feeling of investing emotion in the finished article. In a way it embodies the hopes and dreams that we have for a new child or grandchild when the gift is for them . I pictured him/her playing in our garden with Boris and my three dogs. Maybe he/she would sniff the flowers in that wonderfully exaggerated way that small toddlers do!

OK, this one sounds smug; but I promise you it isn’t.  I am sitting here, just one week away from Teddy’s first birthday, having written only weeks ago that it was my wish to raise £20k before 16th May.  To this very moment, Teddy’s Fund has raised £25,181.  I cannot quite believe that figure.   I don’t know what I imagined when we started the fundraising.  In fact, I am unsure as to what I was even trying to do. I wanted to tell the world about Teddy, and about his entrance into the world; and then the unexpected exit that followed.  I wrote the story just one week after he died; every moment was still so fresh in my mind; every detail of that week in hospital and how it had played out.  That story came from a place of raw emotion and sheer pride as Teddy’s mother.  I am not sure I could write it again, not quite like that.