Trigger warning * this post deals with pregnancy loss.

My jaw dropped as I stood staring down at the two pink lines in front of me.
I grabbed the stick and tucked around the corner into the bedroom where Brian was getting dressed.
I stood holding the two pink lines waiting for his reaction.
We were thrilled. Hopes high. Pink lines. Our heads spinning. We had been one and done after a miscarriage had rocked our worlds two years before but happily floated into nursery colours, planned Christmas announcements, and joy for this gift that wasn’t supposed to be.
We nicknamed it Bean and laughed over our daughter becoming a big sister, talked about the age gap, and couldn’t wait for the first trimester to be over.
The drs visits started out strong and were matched only by the ultrasounds due to Bean measuring small and the tech having a difficult time finding the flutter of a heart beat.
But it would come.
I remember my heart bursting as I drove home, knowing my baby’s heart was beating inside of me.
I made plans with a friend of mine who’s pregnancy was six weeks ahead of mine, I downloaded apps, and I listed baby names.
I was so excited for my daughter to be a big sister and planned to reveal it to her as past of her Christmas gift.
But Two weeks later at another ultrasound it would be confirmed that our Bean had left us.
And my soul was crushed.
I didn’t want to hear that everything happens for a reason.
I don’t want to know that reason.
Im not depressed or angry or frustrated.
I’m numb.
And all I can think is, it happened again.
My Bean, I love you.
More than there are stars in the sky.
And I’m sorry.


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