I would have been almost 21 weeks today.

My very first pregnancy was what they call a chemical pregnancy. It means that my baby died before (s)he even lived. It means that I had those two little lines, but that my baby was gone by the time I went in to the drs.

Was the timing right? No, but I cannot put into words how much I wanted my baby. How grateful I was to have this miracle growing inside me when I knew how hard it was going to be to conceive naturally with my PCOS. How much I already loved him/her. I know that my baby never knew anything but love, but what I would have given to feel them moving inside me, to hold them in my arms.

It makes me feel like I failed my baby. I could not even keep them alive long enough for the dr to acknowledge their existence, possibly due to my PCOS. Those two lines didn't last long, but there WERE two lines. My baby existed, and (s)he mattered.

Nobody but me and my fiancé knew about our little miracle, because we were afraid that it would be taken away, just as they were.

I thought I had healed, but I held a friend's tiny baby yesterday, and as that sweet little girl fell asleep in my arms, it opened up the hole in me that longs for my own baby to raise. It ripped open the gash that I had stitched closed after my lost child took a piece of my heart with them when I found that I had lost them.

And now I feel broken all over again.