My sister got married at the weekend.
I initially looked forward to it. Then I remembered that bridesmaids are high profile, and discovered that there would be six pregnant women there.
Then I got really quite nervous about the whole situation.
But I had bracing time. And I raised my antidepressant dose (with my doctor's agreement). And I sat opposite a pregnant woman the night before the wedding and didn't freak out or get upset. And I talked to one of my sister's best friends (who is pregnant as well) on the morning and was OK.
And she was so happy. And they so obviously love each other. And I spent a lot of the day grinning.
And I was OK, really, until after the wedding breakfast, when the disco started. By then, my duties were over, and I was starting to get tired and sad.
And it wasn't until then that I started to think how different things could have been. Coulda woulda shoulda.
How I shouldn't have been able to be a bridesmaid, because I should have had a four month old baby.
How, after we lost the baby, my sister and my mum and I talked about what size dress I should get. Whether it should be a size or two up. How pregnant I would be by then.
Turns out, not pregnant at all. The dress was a little too big, even though I'm comfort eating like a demon.
So I lit an indoor sparkler and thought of the baby.
Something short-lived and beautiful that ends too soon.
And I wished things were different.