"He took up a lot of space. Moving around us. Weaving in and out of the aisles. Some ladies were annoyed. An old man behind us snickered and under his breath said, ‘hurry up.’"
“As I stood over her and spent those last few minutes with her, blood was cascading down my legs and onto the floor. I didn't care - my womb was crying. Everything about me was crying. Watching them wheel her away broke me. My life ended then and there."
"My hands caught him before he hit the water. In my hands was my baby -- the size and shape of a small water balloon and the deepest shade of scarlet."
"The most heartbreaking validation comes from our bodies. Even when our babies stop living, the maternal instincts of the human body are strong. Our bodies are so committed to the existence of our babies that they continue on as if they were still alive."
I want there to be a word for the vulnerability you feel as you lay there just lying to yourself about what's to come. A word for the way your heart goes from fluttery to thudding in your ears. A word for that one last moment of hopefulness before the world comes crashing down. Why isn't there a word?
"‘Please find someone else,' I begged my fiancé. I just can’t do it. I’m done. My body always fails our babies. Something is wrong with me and I just can’t do it, I’m sorry."
"I struggled to find joy in this pregnancy, and after we received our news, I wondered, Why did God give us this surprise, only to give us a baby boy that has Trisomy 18?"
