Today is the anniversary of the birth of the first baby that I lost.
I was around 19 weeks, but the little guy had stopped growing after initial scans and only measured 12 weeks.
It was devastating, unexpected, and he wouldn’t be the last one we would lose.
4-20 means a different thing in popular culture, but for me it is the day that I finally lost this baby. I had been bleeding for weeks and was told there was still a heartbeat. Without an ultrasound, we couldn’t have known baby had stopped growing. We still don’t know what happened or why we lost the baby after him at around 11/12 weeks as well.
We have our rainbow now, but I like to look back and reflect on their “birthdays”.
These babies that we didn’t get to meet still had a remarkable impact on not only my life and my husbands, but the entire family. It brought us all closer together in so many ways.
Losing those little ones forced me to find a strength within myself that I didn’t know existed. I wouldn’t have gone on to have the little boy that I do. I wouldn’t have finally learned to love myself to heal myself.
So happy birthday my little boy. You’re time with me was short, but your impact will last a lifetime.