A Letter to my Son

Today is March 4th. The odds are pretty good that you wouldn't have been born today - maybe you would have been late, or maybe you would have come early like your big sister did. In my heart though, your birthday will always be today.

When we found out that we were expecting you, that our first IVF frozen transfer had worked, we couldn't believe how lucky we were. We couldn't have planned your timing any better if we'd been a regular old fertile couple - you were due just before Georgia's birthday. Two babies, two years apart; you were a dream come true.

I remember being so, so scared in the early weeks of the pregnancy. I was scared when our hcg levels had a rocky start. I was scared when your daddy & I went to see your first ever ultrasound scan, and breathed easier when we saw your strong heart beating away. I was scared when my morning sickness started up, because it was so different to my pregnancy with Georgia. I was scared when that morning sickness would ebb and flow. Yep, this mama was VERY nervous.

We had an amazing first few months together. When you were still a tiny little poppy seed in my belly, we found out that your Uncle and Aunty were also expecting a miracle of their own - and we couldn't have been happier. Two babies, growing up together, with a proud big sister/cousin there to spoil them. The day we went to our joint ultrasound and found out that our due dates were a week apart, that was a really special moment that I won't forget. You were both so wanted, and so loved.

I remember hearing your heartbeat at home on the doppler, and being so totally and utterly mesmerised with the sound. Like with Georgia, I recorded it on my phone & would listen to it at night before I went to sleep. Those early weeks, before the movements registered, it was a sweet reminder that you were there with me. At 10 weeks, my belly had its first pop, and I took my first - and what ended up being my last - bump shot. Georgia and I would sit on her rocking chair and read books together before bed, and I couldn't believe that I was blessed enough to carry a second baby, to carry YOU.

I wish I knew the moment when we lost you. I wish I could remember what I was doing, and that I could have said something, or did something, to show you how special you were. I was worried the days before, but wrote it off to being paranoid; after all, we'd seen you on the ultrasound, we'd heard your heart beating - a few of those milestones had been crossed. I hate that when I found out that you'd died, I was alone. I thought we were okay, and I told your dad to stay home and watch Georgia, that it was just a routine 11 week OB appointment. That moment changed me forever.

When we found out the results from the genetic testing a few weeks later, my heart broke all over again. Not because they showed that you had T21, or Down Syndrome - because both your daddy and I would have fought for you, regardless of what your chromosomes looked like. No, kiddo, I was devastated because we found out you were a boy. I would have loved you equally and irrevocably whether you were a boy or a girl... but a boy. You could have knocked me over with a feather.

I cried so much that day. I cried for you, because we had so many plans for you - so many things we wanted to show you, so many people we wanted you to meet, so many dreams for the future. I cried for your daddy, because he never got to bond with you - his first son. I cried for me, because you were no longer in my belly, and because I would never get to hold you anywhere else but in my heart and my memories.

Our little family lost a piece of ourselves on the day you went away, and we won't ever get that back. You were our baby, and even though today is your birth day, you'll always stay our baby. I'm sorry you're not here with us today, and I'm sorry that we didn't get to meet you. I'm sorry you never got to know your big sister, who is the most amazing kid - she loves babies, she is happy and curious and sweet, and I know she would have been fascinated by you.

We called you Noah, because that was the name we would have chosen to call you, if you were here. The name has roots meaning 'rest, comfort' - and I wish both of those things for you. 

Thank you for choosing me to be your mama, if only for a short time.