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Dear March baby,

February 1, 2014

Dear March baby,

You gave me a lot of migraines. The worst I’ve ever had in my life.
And I was grateful for every single one of them.

Because you were my baby. You were supposed to make everything right again.

I remember the pregnancy test I took that came back positive. I didn’t want to believe it, because ignoring it would have been easier. I showed it to your Pops and his switch turned back on. He gave me a hug and he smiled. I couldn’t smile. I was too scared for you.

I wanted to warn you about the hostile environment you found yourself in – the one that had already killed 2 babies, the one that I could feel was fighting you from the beginning.

I was happy simply because you existed.
saw you. You were there.
You were a little gummy bear, my little peanut, my nugget baby.

That week was the week I successfully forgot. I heard something about your heart not beating and I shut down. I didn’t cry. Your Pops hugged me again and told me he was sorry. I saw the whole thing coming.
How could I have done that to you?

They took you away from me while I was sleeping.
A week later, we went to the beach and I drank a lot of tequila.
No one could tell, but I had the post-baby body but no baby. I wore bikinis anyway. I never bought the ruffled one-piece I planned on.
I honestly never wanted to get pregnant again. I’d ruined it. I ruined you.

Sweet March baby.
You would have been born sometime at the end of December or the beginning of January. I was hoping for January, because I had already picked out a pretty birthstone necklace and it didn’t need another blue stone on it. It needed a red one because you were supposed to be the fighter.
I have no idea what your name would have been because I tried hard not to name you. You probably would have shared a name with a strong character from a book I read. But I promise it wouldn’t have been Katniss or Peeta. (I’m team Gale anyway.)

I’m so sorry for what I did. I tried to have another baby. I knew exactly what I was doing. I was trying to fill a hole with another hole. I shouldn’t have brought you into that.

You’re the pearl on my necklace now.
Love, Momma.

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