A year to the day that I found out I was pregnant. We weren’t trying, it just happened but I was SO EXCITED!

I’m healthy, we are happy, married, thinking of ways to tell our families.

We went to that first appointment and saw our little addition growing safely. We left beaming.

We decided to wait just a bit longer to tell our parents.

12 weeks, measuring and measuring and the nurse blurts out there isn’t a heart beat.

Cue my silent shock, I saved my tears for Home. Cue my husband not knowing quite what to do to help. Cue doctors and nurses keeping me and my questions and feelings at arms length.

No one likes unhappy news, but I don’t know the answers. I don’t know what I’m about to experience. But they treated me like I should know, like I should have expected it.

Miscarried at Home the next day.

We’ve been trying ever since, thinking that it happened once, it could happen again. But nothing. I’m tracking and charting and eating right and not stressing (or trying to not stress I guess).

And then another month. Another failure by my body.

I am so scared to go back to the doctor. I am so afraid they will say it’s just not possible for me. I’m afraid I’ll be met with the same disdain I was before.

I am crossing my fingers that this is my year. That this is our time.

Please let it be our time.