I'm am 21. I always thought that at this point in my life everything would be so good. I'm married. To a wonderful man whom I can only see flaws in on a daily basis because I'm so angry at everything else in the world, that just coming home to the dishes done ONCE would be the highlight of my week. I constantly try to keep a positive outlook, and no more than 10 seconds after raving about how great everything is about to be, it slaps me in the face.

Our baby was the one good thing to happen in a long, long time. We were already very stable people, both with long time careers, but just living. Just being here. Just getting through each day. And that + sign popped up, and everyday that I carried my baby, I was actually alive. I was moving forward with the things I had been putting off. I was happy. Nothing could ruin my day. 

We went in, December 4th, 2015 to meet you for the very first time, baby. We had only spent 12 weeks together, and the morning sickness was so bad, but it was starting to subside. We had already bought you so many books, and outfits for your first Christmas. We had everything but your crib set up in your room. In just 12 weeks. But baby, you were too little. You were only 8 weeks big. And I knew something was wrong was the room fell silent. We should have heard you. We should have seen you fluttering. I felt so betrayed. I still feel so betrayed. I just wanted you. I wanted you to be part of our world. I will never understand why you weren't made for this place we live in. I will always, always think of you and love you.