Shop the fall collection ➔

It’s not really such a long time, seven weeks. 

It doesn’t sound like a long time at all when you think about it. 

But it’s long enough to feel a spark of excitement. Don’t get too excited because it’s so early, but there’s a definite spark, a growing spark of excitement at the thought of you.

Long enough to order a “Big Brother” shirt so your brother feels included from the very beginning. We won’t give it to him yet, not for a while. But he’s been wishing for you and dreaming of you for a long time. He will be the best big brother.

Just long enough to put the app on my phone that tells the size of the baby. A lemon seed. Now a blueberry. We won’t take pictures yet because it’s early, but it’ll be fun when we can. We can get fruit at the store to show your brother what’s happening inside my belly.

It’s long enough to let my busy mind start planning ahead. 

We’ll need a bigger car. Hopefully not a minivan . . . maybe a bigger SUV with a third row. But let’s face it, probably a minivan.

RELATED: Dear Baby, I Already Love You

Long enough to look at double strollers. We do a lot of walking, and we’ll need a spot for a 4-year-old plus you.

Long enough to get a head start on the gestational diabetes diet. I had it with your brother, so I’ll probably get it again.

Just long enough to start thinking of names. If you’re a girl, we basically have a name in mind. And Daddy will want to keep the LOL initials, I’m sure . . . so I’m sorry about that.

Long enough to talk to you. I don’t know if you can hear me, but I talk to you every day, my little egg.

Long enough to start thinking about when we can tell our people.

Your grandparents usually visit in the spring, so maybe we can tell them in person. It’ll be nice to share the news when we can. But it hasn’t been long enough just yet.

Long enough to imagine a Christmas with you. I wonder if you’ll love the lights this year. Your brother will be so excited to share our traditions with you. We love the holidays.

Long enough to worry about cramping and strange twinges. That didn’t happen before, but every pregnancy is different, they say. And the doctor says everything looks fine. The ultrasound tech says I have a “pretty, textbook uterus” and you look great in there. So maybe I shouldn’t worry . . . but I still do anyway.

Long enough to build the idea of you into our lives. I started planning for the next year, but then the next five, and 10, and then 20 years of plans have you in them too. The things we can do. The places we’ll see. How you’ll fit into our little family.

Long enough to write a heart on the date. Your brother was late, but maybe you’ll be early or maybe right on time, my little pumpkin baby.

Long enough to wonder if I did anything wrong.

I know I didn’t, that I couldn’t, but when things go wrong we look for reasons.

Long enough for so many things.

Long enough to love you. 

RELATED: A Mother’s Love Can’t Be Measured In Weeks

Long enough to dream of you. 

Long enough to wonder about your eyes, your smile.

Long enough to know I’ll miss you even though I never held you.

Long enough to give you a little piece of my heart I know I’ll never get back. 

Long enough for so many things. 

But, in the end . . . 

Not long enough. 

Katharine Lindh

Daughter, wife, mother, dreamer, writer, believer. Originally from the United Kingdom, transplanted to Las Vegas, NV.

A Letter to My Mama, From Your Baby in Heaven

In: Child Loss, Faith, Grief, Miscarriage
A Letter to My Mama, From Your Baby in Heaven www.herviewfromhome.com

Dear Mama, I know you miss me and wish you could watch me grow up. But instead, you sit in that rocking chair, tears streaming down your face, arms wrapped around the blanket that was supposed to be mine. I see you crying, Mama, wishing you could hold me. Wishing you could look into my eyes. Wishing you could hear me cry or call you “Mama”. I want you to know Jesus rocks me to sleep every night and while He does it, He tells me all about you. I know tulips are your favorite flower and that every spring...

Keep Reading

Before You Were Gone, You Were Mine

In: Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Ultrasound photo

Before you were gone, you were here. Before you left my womb incomplete, you were whole. Before you met our Father up in Heaven, you were ours. Before your body left mine, you nuzzled your way into my heart, leaving an empty piece that only meeting you in Heaven will ever fill.  Before God called you back home, you were imagined, through and through. Every single part of you. Hair. Eye color. Tiny toes. Dangling fingers. RELATED: A Mother’s Love Can’t Be Measured In Weeks The way you would yawn. How you would burrow your head under mine. Hearts beating...

Keep Reading

I Had a Miscarriage

In: Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Ultrasound image miscarriage

I watch the needle slide into my arm and feel nothing. It’s fascinating, in a way, this numbness settling over me. I wear it like armor as the nurse tries to make small talk below the tourniquet. I marvel at the sight of my blood, rich and deep red, snaking its way through the tube in my skin and into the waiting vial. I’ve seen that blood already today. Finally, I look away. I’m having a miscarriage. RELATED: A Mother’s Love Can’t Be Measured in Weeks Thirty minutes earlier, I’m in a darkened ultrasound room, my husband at one side,...

Keep Reading