July 1st, I feel funny, something isn’t right. I take some pills to calm down and collect my thoughts.
July 2nd, I feel pregnant, I know I am. But nobody believed me, thought I was overrating, I know my body.
July 3rd, I took the pregnancy test and sat there and stared at the two lines that looked back at me dead in the eyes. We pick up my sister who doesn’t believe me, another pregnancy test is bought, another two lines.
July 4th, It’s a holiday, my grandparents, your great grandparents know you exist, but wish you wouldn’t because I’m not married.
July 5th, I go to the health department, I sit in a tiny room and wait for a pregnancy confirmation, I’m sweaty and nervous, what if my test was wrong? It’s not, they give me paperwork confirming that I’m pregnant and send me on my way with prenatal vitamins. Your father comes over, I think I should tell him but I lie and tell him that you’re not his child and we have sex. I think this is the last time I’ll ever see him in person.
July 6th, I don’t believe I’m pregnant, I know I am, I can feel you, slowly growing, slowly moving along. I lay in bed and wonder if I should tell your father the truth, because you’re our child and shouldn’t be kept a secret. But I cannot force myself to spill the secret to him, I was scared of losing him.
July 7, I think of which OB to use, I know this pregnancy will be high risk, and I want the very best for you. I know who I want to pick but he isn’t here right now so I post on the Spring Hill group asking for suggestions, I end up picking him anyways.
July 8th, I count the days until I can see you. March seems very far away from me right now, but I know it will be here soon.
July 9th, I post on Facebook that I’ll meet you in March. I post this before my first OB appointment, I post this with so much love that my heart might fall out of my chest.
July 19th, I saw my OB for the first time, they said I was six weeks, and go to look for you, they cannot find you. I am sent to a hospital across the street to see if you were really there, to see if you were six weeks. I sit alone in a room waiting to be called while tears rolled down my cheeks, I’ve only known I was pregnant for 18 days but I love you so much, it feels like someone is stabbing me in the chest. I go into the dark room, pee and take off my pants and panties. They use the wand and find you. You’re so tiny and don’t look like anything yet, just a bundle of cells but you’re there and I feel like I can breathe again. I want to share this with your father, but I cannot.
July 28th, I am eight weeks pregnant, the baby app tells me that you’re your hands and feet are starting to form, and that you’re growing eyelids. I keep posting back and forth between the weeks to see when I can see you look like my actual baby.
July 31st, I went with my friend to the baby store, she buys you the first outfit of many I have to buy you. It’s small and I can’t picture you fitting it, but then I think of how small you were in your last picture and know you’ll be tiny like your father.
August 1st, my last good month.
August 15th, I take my first pregnancy baby belly picture, not many can tell you’re there, but I know you’re growing and getting bigger for mommy. I cannot sleep, I have my next OB appointment the following day.
August 16th, they check again and still can’t see you, only your sac. I’m worried I lost you, I sit in the dark room again, staring at the screen clinging hopeful that they’ll find you, they do. You have a tiny little heart beat I see beating away. 103, they said you were measuring small, but I probably got my dates wrong, I know I didn’t, but I thought it was okay because you were tiny but there.
August 22, I wake up with cramping, I go to the hospital and they check you again, they said your heart rate was only 83 and that this could be the start to the end. Tears fall while they remove the IV. My HCG levels were only 3000, but not to worry because 15000 could be missing or just not showing.
August 23th, I lay in bed for most of the day. I wanted to make sure you were okay, I couldn’t sleep. I felt you move, even if nobody thinks I did, I know I felt you. Everything was fine, 4AM hits and I cannot fall asleep still, I have a sharp cramp then nothing. In my heart I know you’re gone, but I don’t want to believe it. I go to sleep at 6AM to be woken up by my niece, my mother takes me to the hospital.
August 24th, I’m in a room by myself with my mother and niece, they run blood work and do another trans vaginal on me, they won’t tell me if you’re okay, they won’t tell me anything, they won’t look me in the eye. I know you’re gone, but I’m quietly inside praying to a God that it isn’t true. I go back to my room, I finally get my results. I’ll never forget ‘They couldn’t find the baby’s heart beat, and there is blood around the baby.’ Why is there blood around you? I didn’t do anything to hurt you, why did your heart stop? I text my OB to tell him, I feel hallow inside. They said you’re low, and I should pass you tonight. I stay up all night waiting and wondering when you would come. I go home, tear stained cheeks and I finally tell your father that you were his, that you were are beautiful little baby, who just wasn’t ready for this world.
August 25th, My OB calls me, my mother has work but I have to go in, I walk in, trying to stand as proudly as I could for a mother who just lost her child. I stare at the pregnant women who are laughing and proudly have hands on their stomachs, I look down and know that while you’re still inside of me, you’re gone. They put me in a room, It’s cold, I feel alone. My OB comes in, he asks me how I am, ‘Sad.’ that’s the only thing I can force to come out of my mouth because if I try to say anything else I will have a break down. He said he knows and he hugs me, I cry into his neck and then into his chest when I couldn’t support my own body anymore, he doesn’t let go.
They tell me I need a D&C, that I can’t pass you naturally. He asks me what I want to do with you, I don’t know, i feel put on the spot, deer in the headlights. He said there won’t be much of you left when you come out, I tell him I don’t want you. I regret it as soon as I say it, I’ll always want you, even in death. I leave the office with paperwork.
I dye my hair blonde, I shower, I touch my stomach, I know that you’re not really there anymore, but God, I wished you were. The hospital calls, I go in, they can’t get an IV in me, they finally get it through my hand.
They ask me what I want to do with your body, your body that you never had a chance to grow into. I want to keep you, I want to take you home, they said I can. It’s 10 and the surgery team has come to take me away so they can take you away. I ask them how you’re going to be given back to me, they said they can’t give you back, but can cut off a piece and send it home with me. I lose it, I finally let the tears go, I scream, an empty hallow scream for a baby that isn’t mine anymore. I need space, so many people are around me, I feel lost, I wish I would have told your father I needed him for this. I name you, and they tell me it’s a pretty name. They put me in the room, it’s cold, I feel alone more than ever, everything ever leading up to this couldn’t ever help me ease this feeling, they tell me they’re going to give me something to help me relax. Someone tells me that his wife lost their first baby and they went on to have four more. Before I fall asleep tears slip down my cheeks.
I wake up in pain, I can’t move, I can barely blink, the nurse is checking on me, I’m the last person there, I feel like I’m on fire. I try to yell, I try to say anything but I can’t force the words to come out of my mouth, I finally tell them I’m in pain, that this is the second worse pain I’ve ever felt. They give me something and it dulls it down, I have to pee, I think. They follow me into the bathroom, they put a pad between my thighs when I was asleep to catch the blood that was going to come. I can’t pee, but when I see the blood I cry, because I am a failure, I am no longer your home.
They make me stay until I can pee, it burns, it’s painful but I push through it. They wheel me out of the hospital, and I light up a Newport. My mom laughs and says I shouldn’t smoke in front of a nurse. We both know I don’t care. I finish it and get into the van. I’m shaky, I take my pain pill. Finally we’re home, I am alone outside, smoking another one, my sister brings me a card. Flowers from a friend who understands what I’m going through. I put it in my purse. I go into the house, and into my room. It’s full of baby stuff you’ll never get to use.
Your father comes two days later, we talk and I cry, I couldn’t tell if he was crying too. I feel alone even though we’re the ones who made you.
I get you cremated, and wait for the results, your little heart just wasn’t strong enough. I was 12 weeks pregnant when I lost you.
I got you back, and I put your ashes in a necklace, it’s not big enough so I have to buy an urn.
A week later the self hate sits in and I start to blame myself and your father. I hate him, I tell myself over and over again, while I’m sitting in my empty bed. I know I don’t, but I want to blame him so damn badly.
I see him again, and it makes me want another baby because I wanted to know what you would have looked like.
People keep saying they’re sorry, I don’t want to keep hearing it but what else do you say when a mothers baby was ripped away?
September 15th, I write about you.
‘Today I sit and think of my beautiful little girl, Carter. Today I lit my candle for her. Today I sit and think of how happy I was when I was two lines instead of one and how the heartbroken sobs echoed in the hospital room when I found out that my baby didn’t have a heartbeat.
Today I sit and think of how nervous I was when they went to check her and how happy I was when they said her little heart was beating, I sit and think how she actually looked like my little baby. Today I will sit and think of my wonderful little girl and how I wish I had more than three months with her. Today I will pray for my first and only baby.
Mommy loved you more than anything in this world and I will continue to love you with my last breath. To my sweet little baby who never made it out of my womb.
To Carter Remmi.’
Today I’ll miss you, tomorrow I’ll miss you, I’ll miss you with ever beat my heart has left, I’ll miss you with every single tear that will fall. I will miss you until I die.
I knew you for three months, but I’ll love you for a life time.