I’m sitting here staring at the two lines—the two lines that are about to change our lives forever. The two lines that will forever shape our future. They are a journey, a road, a life. A literal life inside of me. Two lines that should be the happiest two lines I’ve ever seen. And yet, I sit here crying, unable to get excited. Unable to find the joy through the sadness in this moment. Unable to forgive myself for my lack of excitement.

You see, my baby died. Died. And so these two lines might mean a new life, but they are a hard reminder of my baby girl. They are a hard reminder of the tiny life I held in my arms a mere 10 months ago. A hard reminder of the excitement and hope that was instantly shredded and torn to pieces.

Have you lost a baby? Lost a child? If so, you know that you never heal. You never move on or forget. You simply learn how to handle life in your new normal. And what’s normal to those of us that have lost, is certainly not normal for most. 

Most would be jumping with excitement at the thought of another little baby to hold and love on. Me? I’m worried I’ll look at our new baby and only want the one we lost. I’m worried that I’ll spend the next 9 months in a completely detached state, worried that our worst fear might come true- again. I’m worried about disappointing our older daughter again. I’m worried what another devastating loss could do to our family. 

And so I sit here holding this pregnancy test. I so desperately want to be excited. To be happy. And yet all I can do is cry. My words were quick and definitive as a told my mom and my sister the news today. I’m sure they noticed the abruptly short phone call and the lack of desire to discuss my news. I wanted to tell them and be done. My husband is happy and excitement is just oozing out of him. I’m crabby, wanting to be alone, and frankly—a hot mess right now. 

It doesn’t make sense really, but when does grief ever make sense? We were ready to have another child. We signed up for this. Knowingly. Even did fertility treatments! I thought I had my mind wrapped around this whole new baby thing. Apparently I didn’t . . . 

And so today, I breathe. I am taking a deep breath. Letting myself feel my raw emotions. Letting myself be OK with loving my new baby as much as the one we lost. Reminding myself that this baby is not a replacement, and that my love for this baby doesn’t take away my love for sweet April Rey. 

You see, I have this vision. The vision that we actually get to take home a baby. A vision of our three-year-old getting to be the big sister she so badly wants to be. I have this vision of four little feet running around in our backyard, while I know it’s really six little feet as April Rey watches over them. I have this vision of being happy during this pregnancy. Of being optimistic and excited. I have this vision of all that is to come. And so, while the tears are flowing into a river, I am also smiling. I am smiling because I know I have enough love in my heart for all of my children.