I wish you were in my tummy for the full 40 weeks.
Or if not, that you could have come home with Daddy and me.
I wish we had thousands of photos of you tracking every day of your life, every milestone, every special moment.
I wish I was able to watch you grow.
I wish we were able to watch that feisty personality grow, develop, form you from baby to little boy.
I wish I were able to sing you to sleep.
I wish I were able to give you a bath, watch you play with your toys and you insist on having a bubble bath punk hairdo.
I wish we were able to have cuddles, so many cuddles, breathing in your smell.
I wish my house was full of your things, clothes, nappies, wipes everywhere. Toys strewn across the house.
I wish I had more than my handbag to think about when I leave the house.
I wish I could see which new food you wanted to try next. Which you spat put. How much you just chucked on the floor.
I wish I could see how you got on with Fat Cat.
I wish I could take you to the park.
I wish I could read books with you.
I wish I could be running around after you, and celebrate you taking your first steps.
I wish I needed eyes in the back of my head as you took every opportunity to show off your walking.
I wish I could try to have to figure out what your babbling meant, marvelling at you trying to form words.
I wish I could splash in puddles with you.
I wish I could comfort you when you needed that.
I wish I could see the look on your face when you saw something that excited you.
I wish I could see what most interests you.
I wish you, me and Daddy could be a normal family.
I wish I could feel your arms around my neck, your head on my chest.
I wish I could stroke your beautiful dark hair.
I wish we didn’t have to visit you in the cemetery.
I wish I didn’t have to think when buying you a present whether it will withstand the elements outside.
I wish you didn’t have to be born so early.
I wish there had been a magic cure to save you.
I wish I could cuddle and tickle you and hear you giggle.
I wish I could see you and Daddy playing together, forging a special bond.
I wish life was not so unfair.
I wish I did not have to talk about you in the past tense.
I wish I did not have to put up protective barriers around myself, because since you died I have been broken.
I wish I did not have this leaden weight in my chest.
I wish I did not have this darkness in my mind.
I wish I did not have to see symbolic signs of you everywhere, because real, tangible signs exist of your real, living presence.
I wish I did not know such pain, such sorrow, such longing.
I wish I knew such burning love, a Mother’s love that I could express to a child in my arms.
I wish I could cover you in kisses.
I wish I did not have to wonder what you would be like in the future.
I wish I did not have to miss you, Hugo.