And that is my important disclaimer here.

I don’t know what it’s like to wait months or even years, only to see a little negative sign that hurts in such a big way.

I don’t know what it’s like to get pregnant, only to have no heartbeat be the swift end to a short life’s journey.

I don’t know what it’s like to have a child, only to lose them way before a mother ever should.

All I know is that I am 28 weeks pregnant, and that almost every other week I am told by a doctor that our baby probably won’t live. All I know is that although our baby is still alive and still has a heartbeat right now, some days I feel like I am already in mourning for her.

But if there’s one thing that this “not normal” pregnancy is teaching me, it’s that this kind of stuff happens often, way more often than I ever realized before. This kind of stuff where things don’t happen quickly and perfectly. This kind of stuff where it’s not just boom-bam-pow, and nine months later a healthy baby is born and lives a long and happy life.

And Mother’s Day.

It’s coming. It might be a few weeks away yet, but that doesn't stop every TV commercial and retail magazine from reminding us of this impending date. {And of how we better not disappoint our moms this year...again.}

But it’s not all happiness and greeting cards and flowers and Pandora bracelets on Mother’s Day. Not for everyone.

So to those who are waiting. Waiting to become a mother for the first time, or waiting to watch your family grow: I am so sorry.

I am so sorry for the pain you have gone through. So sorry for the waiting, the agonizing, the questioning, the crying. So sorry for the frustration and anger.

I’m sorry for the struggle to choose joy and gratitude in painful circumstances.

I am so sorry if you, like my friend, have ever thought, “there must be something wrong with me! I am a woman, and my body is supposed to be able to do this, to carry a baby!”

I’m so sorry for the well-intended comments and advice people like to share that sometimes have the healing effect of a band-aid on a broken bone.

I’m so sorry for everything you have been through behind the scenes at home and behind closed doors at the doctor’s office. Behind the smiles and the “I’m so happy for you’s” that you so politely direct at everyone else’s pregnancy and birth announcements. {Not that you aren't happy for others, but maybe you simply want this kind of happiness for yourself this time.}

I’m so sorry.

To those mourning. Mourning the loss of your child, or even mourning the loss of a relationship with your child that seems beyond reconciliation: I am so sorry.

I’m so sorry, no matter how long in the womb or how short on this earth your child was with you. Because there is no good time to lose a child: seven weeks, four months, thirty-seven years.

I’m so sorry for the reminders: the due dates, the birth dates, that one thing that you saw the other day that triggered a memory along with your pain. While you never want to forget your child, I wish the pain of your loss could be forgotten.

I'm so sorry, for even if you are blessed with more children someday, a child you have loved and lost can never be replaced.

“It’s so hard. And it’s something that never, ever leaves you,” my grandma told me about losing her baby at six months pregnant.

I’m so sorry.