My Dearest Baby,

I remember the second I first got an inkling that you existed. I was feeling off, not my usual self, and my stomach seemed to be sticking out more than usual. Staring at the positive pregnancy test, I was elated, excited, and overjoyed. Our family was going to be complete.

I was impatient and eagerly counted down the weeks until you were due to appear. Even two months of severe morning sickness did not decrease my enthusiasm.....8 weeks....12 weeks....14 weeks....18 weeks. So close to the midway point. Boxes of baby clothes from friends piled up in my room, waiting to be sorted through and used. We started to make exciting plans for the birth; who would be there, if I should give birth on the back porch in the nice warm weather, wanting to give birth in the water like with the Guppy.

Then, a curious glitch: the midwife had a hard time finding your heartbeat. She determined that you were an elusive baby; that the placenta was in the front, making it harder to find the heartbeat. Nothing really to worry about, but let's get an ultrasound done just to make sure.

I really didn't think I had anything to worry about. I was excited to be able to see you, to know what your gender was. After all, there were no signs that anything was wrong; no mother's intuition on my end that something wasn't right. So when the doctor started speaking in a solemn voice, the only thing I could manage to do was stare at you on the ultrasound screen and try to ignore the things he was saying.

"No movement.......no heartbeat....only measuring at 14 weeks.....so sorry....."

He was right, there was no movement. But I could see your beautiful form on the screen; your small head and round tummy; your little arms and legs; much smaller than you should have been but still so incredibly beautiful and still.

Should I have known that there was something wrong? Would a more intuitive, attentive mother sensed that something wasn't right instead of walking around for over four weeks with you passed away inside of her? Does it even matter? The pain would still be there, my heart would still be breaking, and I wouldn't have had that extra four weeks of sweet, blissful ignorance: time I spent imagining your birth and what you were going to look like, wondering what to name you, wondering when I would finally feel you move.

I don't even know if you were a boy or a girl. I wish I did know, I could give you a proper name. Would you have had brown hair like the Mermaid? Or would your hair have been lighter like the Guppy's? Would you have preferred to nurse on the right breast or the left? Would you have liked to be swaddled with your arms free or in the blankets? All these small things, these things that I took for granted in knowing about my children; I will never know them about you.

You aren't on this earth anymore, little angel. But you are forever and always in my heart, in my mind, and in my soul. We weren't able to get to know each other, but we will someday. Until then, my angel....

Love,
Mommy