Three weeks.

We knew you for three weeks.

In those three weeks, we planned.

In those three weeks, we got excited.

In those three weeks, we fell in love with you.

You had three excited big brothers.

You had a very excited mummy and daddy.

We didn’t know you were going to be a part of us. We didn’t expect you.

But, my god, we loved you.

We love you.

Three weeks.

And then…you were gone.

Biologically. Scientifically. Physically. You were almost none existent. A bunch of cells.

How the fuck do you fall in love with a bunch of cells?

It doesn’t matter what you were, or what you weren’t. You were our baby. We loved you.

You were our little surprise. A surprise we didn’t know we wanted, but we did.

We wanted you so much.

As soon as that second line appeared, you were wanted. You were loved.

We even had names for you. Pumpkin, until we knew what you were. Then two names that we loved.

Names that we loved for a baby that we loved.

We saw your little home inside me. A little space, with a little dot where you were beginning to grow.

And then…the blood. There shouldn’t have been blood.

No one could find you anymore.

Your little home inside me couldn’t keep you safe.

Nothing could keep you safe. No one could keep you safe.

Things happen for a reason. I know that.

You weren’t meant to be an earth baby.

It still fucking hurts though.

It really fucking hurts.

Three weeks we knew you.