When Little B was born and I wrote my last ‘Pregnancy after multiple miscarriage’ post I said I wouldn’t write about the two unsuccessful pregnancies that went before him anymore, because it was time to look forward, not back. I think I was a little hasty.

The truth is I think about what happened a lot, and I found myself thinking about it again this weekend, the weekend of Little B’s christening. This was probably because we were celebrating his entrance into the world ‘officially’ for the first time.

This time last year I was six months into Little B’s pregnancy, which, coming after two miscarriages, meant for the entire nine months I felt like I was treading on egg shells.

While it was a huge relief when he arrived healthy, I spent the first few months still convinced ‘the worst’ was going to happen. I swear the whole thing has aged me 10 years. It occurred to me this weekend that it’s only really now, now that he’s big and bouncing with reassuringly chunky milk-filled legs, that I’ve started to relax.

I still look at him and can hardly believe he’s here, and I can hardly believe we’ve actually had a christening…