It's my party and I'll cry if I want to

Saturday was my birthday. I was born on 7th July. I'm a Cancerian, with a Leo moon, for those interested in my astrological credentials. This year I turned 34 years old. It was supposed to be my first birthday as a mum. I guess it still is. Except I have no child to show for it.

On my birthday last year I was newly pregnant, although I didn't know it until a few days later. I'd been tired in a way I'd never experienced before, and was having all of these weird burning feelings in my breasts, so I had my suspicions. Even though we'd been trying, the news was still an incredible shock for me. I couldn't believe it was real. I couldn't believe that it was happening to me. I couldn't believe it had been that easy.

Turn the clock forward one year and that time feels like a dream. Some days I can barely remember or believe that I was ever pregnant, or that there ever was a baby. My current reality is so far from how I imagined it. I don't know how I found myself here. I don't recognise who I am, or where I am, and worse still, I don't know the way from here. I'm only feeling my way forward, aware that I could fall off any number of unseen, unknown ledges, at any time. I feel untethered. My anchor is gone and I am adrift.

What does it mean to be 34? To me, right now, this question is tied inextricably the question of what it means to be 34 and childless. I never wanted to be an older mum,  but I'd now sure as hell prefer it to being a bereaved mum. I was impatient the first time around, but Leslie and I did the sensible thing of trying to get our lives in order before we embarked on that road, so we waited until what seemed like the perfect time. It was the perfect time - we'd just returned from an amazing European holiday and bought our first house. But someone or something decreed that we would not enjoy the trifecta of our longed-for baby too. Sometimes I try to make sense of what happened to us by thinking we had too many good things happen, and that it was our turn for a bad thing, but then I look around and see so many 'bad' people receiving nothing but good fortune and reward for little effort. No matter which way you turn it or look at it, what happened to Max seems so senseless. So unnecessary. Such a waste. We did not deserve to lose him. He did not deserve to die.

On my birthday I could not help but reflect on how different our lives were at the same time last year. I also could not help but look to the future with fear and uncertainty. I've read one too many magazine article about declining fertility and rising risk factors for things going wrong as women approach their mid thirties. I worry that I won't be able to get pregnant again; that Max was a miraculous one-off that can never be repeated. I worry what will happen if I do get pregnant again. Not just how I will cope amid unimaginable fear and anxiety, but I worry in very practical terms too. What if that baby dies? How many more times do I have to do this to bring a baby home to stay? The months tick on. There's no new baby in sight. I don't want my choices taken away from me because I'm on the wrong side of 35 as I've been ready for this for so long. So long.

Something else I couldn't get off my mind? The fact that my child will never experience a birthday. Never. He will never awaken to birthday kisses on his sweet face, or presents beside his bed. He had a day of birth, and we are so glad he was born, but that day will never be one of true celebration, for it is so overshadowed by his death that came so closely on the tail of it. To parents organising jumping castles and trying to outdo the other school mums when it comes to organising unforgettable birthday parties? Scrap the organisation and spend time marvelling at how lucky you are to get to spend your child's birthday with them. Not everyone gets that. Some people don't even get close to experiencing that kind of privilege.

My birthday wasn't all doom and gloom. I had a rocky morning, but a lovely afternoon spent with a few close friends who came over for afternoon tea, bringing wonderful company, yummy treats and thoughtful gifts. It was one of the nicest afternoons I've had in ages, and for once, I invited just those whose company I was sure to enjoy. No more of the 'I should invite X or Y' for me. From now on it's just about the people who enrich my life. I've no time or energy for anyone else. Those who were there absolutely made my day. I am so lucky to know so many wonderful, kind, witty and intelligent women who bring so much to my life.

My birthday afternoon tea spread

I was also lucky to have my mum visiting for the weekend, especially for the occasion. She took me shopping and for the first time in months I got some new clothes that made me feel good. I had my hair cut. I felt a bit new and fresh. I was glad for it. I was glad to have her. I am glad for many things. I am. But I just want my baby back. I want him so badly that I can't even express it anymore, except in lethargic tears and sighs. The screaming, begging days don't come often anymore, and often I don't even realise I'm crying a lot of the time until my tears are cascading off my face. I just want Max back. It was my official birthday wish. I wished him back in my arms whilst cutting my birthday cake. I wished to rewind one year to the day to start again with the beginnings of my baby stirring inside me.

I wish, I hope, and I cry. Another milestone passes, and a year begins again.