On March 21st, I found out I was pregnant. I had an IUD and the chances of a baby were 0.02% but I beat the odds and a baby was made. Five hours after I found out I was pregnant, I learned it was ectopic, and seven hours later I was in surgery.
Dear Baby That Will Never Be,
Hi baby. This is your mommy. We never officially met. I am writing you this letter to let you know that I am sorry. I never got to see your eyes. cute nose, or ringlet curls of dark brown hair. There were no chubby cheeks, midnight feedings, or first smiles. Mommy never got to cuddle with you on the couch or sing you an off-key lullaby.
I only knew you existed for twelve hours before you had to go see Him. You see Baby, you never finished your journey to safety in my womb. You stayed where you started, in my ovary, and did not move. You were making mommy very sick and you had no more room to grow. The doctors said that it was time for you to leave this world or you and mommy would need to leave together.
I heard your heart beat. I saw a picture of you on an ultrasound. You were grey and black and white and squiggly and lumpy. A blur. But you were here with me. I saw you on the screen and I heard you via a machine. A mark remains on my belly; a scar that will forever remind me of you and what could have been.
Baby, you have two brothers who are full of laughter and smiles, life and joy. Carlo and Eli are their names. I could not leave them at this time and walk with you, so you had to walk alone. I wish you could have met them. They are full of mischief and giggles. Eli loves to pull every book off of his bookshelf and every article of clothing out of his drawers. Carlo is enamored with any vehicle that exists and would have taught you some made up game with cars and soccer balls. You should have been by their side, but you will not know them.
I will miss your first smile and your first steps. You were a part of me for six short weeks, but you will always be in my family and in my heart. I love you Baby. Take care.