A week baking ourselves in Sicilian sunlight has exposed more than a need to observe the damaging effects of UV rays and, in the case of DH, the local wine. The change in pace has, somehow, put a big neon arrow next to our strategy for coping with the early stages of a pregnancy immediately after a miscarriage. Who am I kidding? It was the giant, massive, minutes-before-your-head-hits-the-pillow-argument we had last night (a few hours after returning from holiday), that cranked the wattage up on the neon arrow. Fuelled by a storm of hormones, sickness and the treacherous line you tread between buying into what’s going on and not buying in too much, we stamped our feet like enraged toddlers at how our individual needs were going unmet (mine – empathy, his – civility).

Enough was enough. But first, how did we get ourselves into this mess?

Five weeks into this pregnancy, neither DH nor I could think of a way to deal with the ponderous tick of the developmental clock as it moved to 12 weeks, other than to stick our heads in the sand like disgruntled ostriches and try to get on with our lives. But, while slowly suffocating on mouthfuls of sand, termites and whatever else it is that an ostrich likes to stow its head at while avoiding life, we’ve managed to put our lives on hold. All discussions of future plans – and that includes holidays, weekends away, writing sabbaticals, maternity leave, where we’re going to live, how we’ll manage our finances and careers – have been frozen, in case the baby that glues it all together doesn’t turn up.

We have become the kind of joyless, bickering couple you overhear on a train and hope to god you never end up like that thank you very much.

And here we are, at 9 weeks and 3 days with a stretch of unknown, foggy future to navigate. We’ve decided to chuck the current, crap map and change tack. We have decided to stop editing our conversations like Stalin and permit ourselves to dream about a future with a baby in it. And if it doesn’t come to fruition? We’ll have more to worry about than whether we allowed ourselves to dream.