The above makes it sound like I'm sad all the time but I'm not. I think about Matilda every day and I cry often. But for large periods of the day I'm happy, I'm looking after Max, kissing his cheeks, hugging to my chest, making bad jokes and reminding my husband he's meant to laugh at them, and wondering what to have for dinner.
But then it hits me once more out of the blue - I had a baby girl, she should be one, I should be watching her learn to walk, and dressing her in pink dresses. And I wonder how this happened - how it is that I'm 29 and I have a child that died.
And everyday I look at Max and I'm grateful beyond words that he is here. That I know how incrediably lucky that makes me.