Husband,

You are such an amazing man, amazing father. Fiercely protective, loyal, giving, attentive, playful. A few months into our friendship I told you that I was going to pick out my sperm donor. You asked me why I would do something like that, when you were so willing to give me a baby. It had been a long time since I blushed like that.

We were both so excited when I found out I was pregnant. You were even more excited when you found out that our baby was a girl. You love your son, but there is something about the bond a little girl has with her Daddy, and you wanted to experience it again. We made plans. You talked about how fat I was getting, and how much you loved that. I felt her kicks, and couldn't wait until they were strong enough for you to feel them as well. And just like that, it was over. The guilt I felt was immense. I felt like I'd failed her, and you. I know that you deal with grief by locking it away and forgetting about it. It stayed with me every day. Every milestone she should have hit, but didn't. Every pregnancy after we would get hopeful. You'd tell me not to worry. It was a fluke. 3x is not a fluke, baby! What's wrong with me?

You said that you aren't willing to try again. You don't want to hear me talk about it anymore. You're content with me, and just want to enjoy your time with me. You married me, and not my body's ability to give you children. I know that you hurt, too, so I try. I love how you love your children. The pride and joy that you show when you're around them, talking about them, looking at pictures of them. I want that, too, baby! I want to give you that, too! I resent the hell out of you for shutting me down. I love you so much, and hate that you're hurting so badly. I just can't accept that we aren't mean to have a child. I just want her back.