In April 2011 you left us. I still can't go through that time from start to finish. My head won't let me.

You were planned, your sister Faith was so excited. Then when you were born you were so poorly. 12 hours later your dad and I held you as you passed away from pulmonary hypoplasia. It's something that could never have been spotted. I'll never get over the guilt that I couldn't give your dad his first born child. The look on your sister’s face when I told her will haunt me. It was beyond unfair and there was no one to blame but myself. Rationally I know it's stupid but I feel that I ruined everyone's lives that day.

We got pregnant again soon after and I refused to let myself love this child inside me. And what was the point in buying stuff or telling people? Even in labour with your brother I was convinced he'd die. He's now nearly four and speaks about you all the time.

We're having baby number four now and it's all flooding back. But nearly five years on people have hoped we'd stopped grieving. They hope we are "over it" now. I'll never stop aching for you and I crave for the blissful ignorance of pregnancy before loss. Your dad goes through more than I can explain and it's not my place to say. He spent so long holding it together for me he struggled himself alone.

I want everyone to know that I have three children and this is baby number four. And I'm not excited about scans or knowing the sex. Each monthly scan makes me ill with anxiety.

You are part of our little family and we'll never stop grieving. I love you Baby Bear.