It is exactly four months since our lives changed forever. Four months since we woke up a happy couple, expectant parents, and went to bed broken.
The mind and the memory are crazy things. Toby and I have had heavy boots for a couple of days now. I don't think we'd consciously realised that we were nearing those terrible twenties dates, and yet our subconscious is fully aware. Switched on to the gruesome anniversary that we have to endure every month.
When we stop, and say, oh, that's why we are so sad this week, we think back to November. We reflect on how life can pick you up and deposit everything you know into some far off land, where the roses don't smell as sweet.
We are trying to be positive. Not for everyone else, but for our own sanity and ease. But trying doesn't mean much when your baby has died.
I thought, considering the weather, that I should put on my trainers and go for a walk. Breathe in some fresh air.
So I came to the park. And walked straight into what was meant to be.
The grass all warm and freshly cut. The playground bouncing about, heavy with excited screams.
We are moving in a month and will wave goodbye to a whole life that was at the crease and ready to bat.