I am now beginning to understand how my experience of this second pregnancy has been overlaid by memories of my first pregnancy.
On Thursday of last week, I suddenly experienced a wave of intense anxiety. I crawled into bed and gave in to the fear that I would once again miscarry. "I can't lose this baby," I sobbed to myself. "I simply can't go through all that again."
It was only later that I realised that I was at that point six weeks and four days into the pregnancy - the exact time at which I began bleeding last time round.
But I didn't start bleeding. And somehow it feels very significant to have made it beyond that point. I have only just realised that I have been so completely focussed on the idea that I would miscarry, that I haven't really considered the possibility that I might not.
But now I am entering into the seventh week of pregnancy. I am sailing into uncharted waters. And, although I remain acutely aware of all that still could go wrong, I am no longer as convinced that it will necessarily all go wrong. I am slowly learning to balance the terror of another miscarriage against moments of unconditional joy, when I am able to accept the fact that, against all the odds, and without medical intervention, I am in fact pregnant.