I was so thrilled when we found out we were pregnant back in April. This is what I had been wishing and waiting on for years, it seemed. We had finally come to a place in our life and our marriage where we were ready to make our couple into a family.
Months went by, and things seemed to be progressing as normal. I wasn't gaining much weight, but it was still early. No big deal, I thought.
The doctors didn't agree.
Some tests had come back as question marks, which required more tests. At the time, the doctors assured me that it was probably just a precaution, tests come back abnormal all the time for babies that are born healthy.
Then, at 19 weeks pregnant, my husband and I excitedly went in for a sonogram to find out the gender of our unborn child. That was the day everything began to crumble for me.
The sonographer was anxious. The doctors were compassionate. The news was horrible. We were told that day that there was zero chance of our baby - a little girl - surviving to be born.
They gave us reasons. The placenta was too thick, the amneotic fluids were low, she wasn't getting enough nutrition, something was wrong with her heart. All the reasons blended together for me as I cried. I cried in the doctor's office, I cried in the car, I cried with my husband, and I cried with my friends.
I was mourning my baby before she had even died... before she was even born.
My heart was breaking and this optimist could not find a bright side.