My wife delivered our perfect little girl 1/30/25 at 12:38AM on the day she 36W.

We got to spend the most magical 8 hours with her before she started to bruise and change colors and we said we would see her again some day.

I have been trying to stay as strong as possible for my wife but it has been the hardest time of my life. I cannot sleep anywhere but in her nursery, I have no will to continue living in a world that she is not apart of and my wife feels the same. It feels so selfish.

I know my wife is struggling and I’ve been focused on taking care of her the best I can and will continue to do so because I need her to heal before I can start healing.

I don’t know why I’m writing this. Everything just sucks and it feels like it’s never going to get better. Support groups and therapy is set up for next week. Any additional advice anyone has would be greatly appreciated.

I know this is such a small part of the loss of a baby but the baby hair/fringe/troll hair is starting to grow out and everytime I look at the mirror and see it I get so annoyed.

It took forever to grow out the last time I was pregnant. And I hated every minute of it bc I just looked like a trolls doll every day.

Knowing how long it will take again and going through this with no baby just makes me so angry.

Just wanted to vent to anyone else that might get it.

I am at such a loss…I am so sad and angry. we had a baby in April with Lethal anomalies. We managed to get through it. It was awful but we are coping. Then we decided to try again when we got the green light. Everything was ruled as sporadic as all the tests came back as normal (except trisomy 21 which had nothing to do with her anomalies). We had no trouble getting pregnant. I was a little Shocked it happened so quickly, and was terrified but happy. Progesterone was low, and my doctor wasn’t too hopeful things would be okay. But she put me on progesterone and things were going great. We did maternit21 testing knowing it would at least rule out downs. As I was more worried about that than the other anomalies happening again. We had a scan at 12 weeks and we saw all the things are other baby didn’t have. We found her heartbeat several times after that with a home Doppler. We were finally getting excited about her and accepting this was happening. Then at 16 weeks, we saw a still baby on ultrasound and no heartbeat… why?! Why?! Why?! My 3 year old is so beyond excited to have a sister. And now we have to crush her again. I wanted so badly for her to have a sibling and I’m not sure I could do this again. I want a baby in our house and in our arms again. This pain is so unbearable. I know still fresh, it’s just a huge punch in the gut. And on top of it, my best option is a D&E and has abortion all over all the paperwork. That makes me sick to my stomach. Just venting. There’s nothing anyone can do or say. I just needed to type this out to a group that understands. I just don’t get it… we’re good parents, and we did everything the right way. I was careful about soaps, and cleaning supplies, tried to stay as non toxic as I could. Ate decently - minus the Taco Bell nacho cravings 😂. Kept up with my water most days. followed the food and cooked meats rules. I just don’t know where we went wrong. And that scares me to try again. 😔

I don’t know how to even begin describing the feeling I am going through. After years of TTC, I finally conceived twin boys through IVF. I had a very uneventful 20 weeks of pregnancy.

But just after my anatomy scan, I started experiencing abdominal pain. When I went for check up doctors informed that I have insufficient cervix with bulging membrane. They were able to put in an emergency cercalage but the same night I started preterm labor and membrane for one of my twin ruptured. Then started the longest 2 weeks of my life trying everything to keep both babies. They kept me on continued bed rest with antibiotics. But after multiple tries and consultation with NICU doctors. I was not able to keep them and went into labor at 22 weeks. Both my boys were born alive but passed away after 1 hour.

Me and my family are still trying to understand how the situation went from perfect to disaster in 1-2 days.

I had spinned so many dreams which currently lay shatter at my feet. I am currently in a limbo and feeling helpless and scared to even thinking of moving forward.

Nothing much to say except that night is the worst for me. I miss my baby so much. Of course I’m going to try and find happiness again. Of course I’m going to try to live on for my baby but I just can’t wait to be with her again🩷💕 I can’t help but think that motherhood was completely snatched from me. My first baby, full term. 41 weeks. I’ll do anything to have my big belly back!! All the body pain, bathroom trips, and throwing up was so worth it. I’ll do it 1000x just to hold my baby girl again. Mommy’s angel baby 👼🏽

I miscarried at 7 weeks earlier this month. The same day we saw the heartbeat, the scan also showed the fetus was only developed at 4-5 weeks.That night I had increasing pain and passed the pregnancy tissue at home.

I fluctuate between being distraught and accepting what happened.

I've always been conflicted about whether I could handle everything that it means to be a parent but this whole endeavor has changed me as a person on so many levels.

I'm 34 and my husband is 37. It took about 6 months to conceive this first pregnancy. I'm struggling with the fear of having another miscarriage, if I'll even get pregnant again naturally, and so many other what-ifs.

Really struggling to cope and not constantly spiral about how to somehow get past all of this.

Seeing all my family members who've wanted kids, who were able to successfully get pregnant and I'm feeling behind. I know it's not a race but it feels so upsetting and unfair sometimes.

Just struggling to cope and not feel guilty about all my feelings.

looking at our baby shower pics and how happy we were… all of the sweetness and innocence. it hurts that we’ll never be those people again. that we will never have him with us again. everything tinged with grief and pain…even the “happy” stuff…ugh i’m just…so sickened at this life…i wish my son was here. i miss you endlessly, donovan. i wish i could’ve seen your eyes and heard your voice. i wish you could’ve heard mine tell you that i love you. i hope you knew how much you meant to us. you’re everything to me still…

Hello, my best friend just had a miscarriage and I want to send her a little gift as condolences. She lives a bit of a ways away from me so it couldn’t be super perishable items. I wanted to know what I can include in her little gift basket that can also go though the mail.

My son’s due date February 9th, 2025 is quickly approaching. I’ve decided to honor him, to order a cake. Is this an appropriate cake for the occasion? I was thinking of having his name on it as well. I do plan on doing something for his actual birthday which is September 15th, 2024. Still can’t believe what was a healthy pregnancy went left at 20 weeks. I’m hoping this mini ceremony with cake will help me to gain the strength.

Hi all,

My best and oldest friend just told me that she lost her baby during labor last weekend and she herself almost died. I’m just so devastated for her and I’m wondering what I can do for her. I know nothing can ultimately make it better. We also live literally across the planet from each other so I can’t be there for her in person. All I want to do is fly in and hold her in my arms but finances and job don’t allow for this!

Family members are currently staying with them for support so I don’t know if something like a meal delivery would be helpful. I think meals are covered. I was thinking maybe a gift basket of some sort? Flowers? A piece of jewelry with the kids’ birth stones? She has an older child. Would you be able to share if there was a gesture/something done for you by a loved one that brought you at least a little bit of solace? Thank you!

I loss my baby last year at 21 weeks, she was perfectly healthy and I didn’t have any premature labour but she suddenly lost her heartbeat. Due to this, it’s very hard to go back to my previous OB again. Memories keep flashing back whenever I’m there for postpartum checkup.

We’re TTC again and trying to be proactive in finding specialist. And I think I’ll be considered as high risk if I got pregnant because of my history. Any recommendations for high risk ob within Greater Vancouver (preferrably Surrey area) ? Or any experience being referred to MFM here in Canada? Did you get referred pre-conception or is it only when ur pregnant again?

I lost my daughter on January 17 at 34+5. I got to hold her in the hospital, but I was so loopy from the pain medicine and my brain has started blacking out the trauma that I barely remember this special moment.

I have pictures of her that the hospital gave me. She is in a funeral home now, awaiting cremation, and the funeral home says she is still viewable. My husband doesn’t want to see her again, as she was born sleeping and likely won’t look good almost two weeks later. He doesn’t want to ruin our perfect memory of her from the hospital.

I don’t know what to do. Do I go and view her? The funeral home says I can before her cremation, but they recommend I do so soon (which I assume means she is getting worse looking).

Do I ruin the little memory I do have left? Or do I see her body one more time? What did you fellow loss moms do?

I've never posted, but have visited this page often. I finally wanted to share my story.

In 2023 I was pregnant with my third child. At 20 weeks I was in a car accident that was my fault (it was just a split second mistake, I was not on my phone). Long story short I was okay (not a scratch on me), but our baby passed 9 hours after due to a placenta abruption. I was induced and delivered him after 30 hours of labor. He was perfect and had the same nose as our two older children. We were absolutely wrecked. Never had something so terrible happened to us.

6 months later I was pregnant again. I knew right away something was wrong. My levels were low, I started spotting and then began having pain. At 6 weeks we discovered an ectopic pregnancy. Despite catching early, I ended up loosing one fallopion tube. It was the most physical pain I've ever been in. We didn't understand how we could have two bad things happen to us in such a short time.

7 months later we've all but given up having more children when we found we were pregnant again. We were cautious, but so excited. Everything looked perfect and we saw a heartbeat at 7 weeks. At 11 weeks I went in and it was discovered there was no heartbeat. I could not believe it. How could this happen to us? What did we do to deserve this. I opted for a D&C, the baby had actually passed at 8 weeks and my body was not recognizing it. This was 3 weeks ago, and we are devastated. We did find the baby had a chromosome issue, it was a girl. The only positive is it isn't inherited. Just pure bad luck, less than 1% chance.

If you read all of this, thank you. I know I'm lucky to have two beautiful living children, but I never thought I'd have 3 dead babies. I guess none of us did. I've been told by 5 doctors there's no reason I can't have another baby, but I do not trust this. I feel like we are cursed. I'm constantly on edge wondering what's going to hit us next.

It’s been nearly 5 1/2 years since my son passed and every year gets harder and harder. I love my baby with every fiber of my being but that love is stuck inside me. I can’t ever show him how much I love him and it hurts.

I’m at a point in my life were I so badly want to be a mother so I can love the shit out of my kid but I’m single so I’m not sure when it’ll happen for me. The desire to show love and care to my son and wanting another child is eating at me. I’m in therapy and have the skills to cope with the loss of him but I’m having a hard time coping with this

I lost our little girl at 20 weeks; IUFD. No explanation. I started wondering if I need to change my prenatal vitamin regimen…I took one a day prenatals (one soft gel daily) when I was pregnant with my first at 30; everything was fine…but maybe I need something “more” at my “advanced age” of 37?

What has everyone else taken? I know everyone says not to blame ourselves and it’s nothing I did blah blah blah…but what if I can make a change for next time that helps?

I’ve since read about needed, perelel etc. Just curious, what prenatals did you take before your loss?

Hi everyone,

I lost my daughter, Amara, at 25 weeks and three days in July 2024 due to fibroids. I had a C-section, and in November, I underwent surgery to have the fibroids removed. In July, we are allowed to try again for a new baby, but I am so afraid of being pregnant again. I’m also scared that it will take a long time to conceive this time, as I got pregnant quickly the first time. I am 33 years old, and I feel like I don’t have much time left. How do I deal with this fear?

My daughter was born at at 24 weeks and 1 day. She lived for 8 hours before her health deteriorated. When we went to the mortuary she asked if we wanted to see her one last time before she was cremated and my husband and I both said no. I changed my mind within a couple of days and they happily set up a time and date I could see her again. My husband didn't want to see her again because he said it hurts to much and didn't know how she would look after all 16 days. I am not upset at him at all. I know men grieve differently and I know not facing feelings is what he does.

I went to the mortuary alone and didn't know it was a viewing. I didn't tell any of my family (he has no family here).

I am sad her viewing room was empty. It was just me and my baby girl. I didn't know, I never planned a funeral. I'm sad I don't want my daughter to think no one cared. I love her very much and am so sad it was just me at her viewing.

How has your relationship been with your significant other since the loss of your baby? How do you grieve differently?

We lost our second daughter at 39w right before delivery after a healthy pregnancy. I’m thankful that during such a horrible time, my husband and I have managed to be each others biggest support even while grieving differently. We started counselling together a week after we lost her. We can’t help but cry together often that this pain will be with us for the rest of our life.. to know we’ll be 80 and still crying for our baby. She was so beautiful and we wanted her so badly. I feel a loss like this can either make or break a relationship, it’s so life changing and changes you so much as a person 😢💔 hugs to you all, this is all so hard and harder if you don’t have your significant others support. sigh 😞

Dear Serafina,

The day I met you was the best and worst day of my life. You were already gone when they placed you in my arms, swaddled in pink, with a white hat covering the dark brown hair you got from me and your dad. That was the first time we met, and the last time I ever saw you, melded into one horrible nightmare come true.

I found out I was pregnant with you on Father’s Day last year. I could barely wait more than 15 minutes after missing my period to pee on that stupid stick. I had a feeling you were in there, and that feeling turned into the faintest pink line a few minutes later. It was at that very moment, the few seconds I took before screaming for your dad, that I fell utterly in love with you.

Of course, your dad was in the bathroom with a camera less than a minute later. We hugged and kissed and gushed over that pink line, and your dad snapped photos of the first moments we ever came to know you. We called your grandparents, and I couldn’t resist texting Aunt Jamie that what I thought was my period a few days earlier was in fact just implantation bleeding, the only time I would ever bleed the entire pregnancy, until the night you were born.

We were at the doctor a few weeks later. I was seven weeks pregnant and you were just a peanut on the ultrasound. I remember how filled to the brim your dad and I were with nervous excitement as we stared at you, wildly perplexed that there was a tiny human inside of me. The doctor told us not to worry, but said I had a subchorionic hematoma. When I asked about it, I learned it could lead to a miscarriage. My heart leaped and sunk in the same beat.

Eventually the hematoma went away, around 15 weeks. By now, you were making me throw up almost every morning. I finally had to tell my boss I was pregnant so she’d cut me some slack on missing my morning meetings. I posed in the mirror every morning, waiting for the sight of the slightest bump. I couldn’t wait to meet the peanut (that I now knew was a little girl) that was wreaking havoc on my digestive system.

Your dad and I fantasized about traveling the world with you. We imagined you at Yankee games, funneling cotton candy into your mouth. Anytime we saw another baby in a carrier at our favorite coffee shop, we nudged each other and said “that’ll be us with Serafina”. Eventually, we told everyone and they all started buying you gifts - onesies and pacifiers and crinkly sounding toys. Your closet was stuffed with dozens of pink outfits, lovingly picked out by your Grandma Linda.

Our 20-week appointment was the first time we’d go to the hospital, the same hospital we’d find ourselves at twice a week as you grew bigger. We saw your hands and your toes and your button nose on the ultrasound screen, and crossed our fingers that they wouldn’t find anything wrong. We must’ve not crossed them hard enough, because the doctor came in only to tell us you weren’t growing and we’d probably never get to meet you.

Your dad and I sobbed for days. We held each other up with the little strength we had left and began the onslaught of appointments and second opinions that would never end, even after your death.

Every two weeks, they’d scan you again. You’d grow just enough to grant us another appointment, but never enough to grant us relief. You weren’t growing as you should and you had too much fluid in your brain. We sent you for as many tests as we could, but none of them told us anything. As far as we knew, you were just a little lady with a big personality.

It was around that time you started kicking me every day. At first it felt like someone was rubbing spoons along the inside of my stomach. As you got bigger, it turned into kicks and punches and full body rolls, and you always got the hiccups. You moved so much, I started to worry less. I never counted kicks because I didn’t need to. Anytime we went in for an ultrasound, they’d call you an “active baby” and tell us how much you were squirming around in there. You’d never make it easy for them to get the pictures they needed. My defiant daughter, antsy from the start, just like her mom.

Eventually, you stabilized. You made it to the third trimester and your dad and I began to set up your nursery. Your kicks were big enough for your dad to feel (his favorite nightly activity), and once I found out you could recognize my voice, I started talking to you every day. You quickly became my best friend and confidant. I was absolutely dying to meet you.

By the time 32 weeks rolled around, we were going to the hospital twice a week for NSTs and dopplers. You were being so carefully monitored, I’d never fathomed the possibility that you wouldn’t make it, especially not mere hours after we were just given the green light after an NST to take you home and come back next week.

I was just shy of being 35 weeks pregnant the night you were born. As you got bigger, you started to kick the ligaments by my hips, and I became more and more uncomfortable. Like many women in their third trimester, I couldn’t sleep through the discomfort, so I decided to watch TV in your dad’s office. Within minutes, my legs were covered in blood. I screamed for your dad with a blood clot the size of a small steak in my hand. It felt like it took forever, but eventually the paramedics whisked me away in an ambulance while your dad sped off in our Subaru close behind.

You didn’t make it to the hospital. You passed sometime when I was tossing and turning in bed, trying to ignore the pain that I would later learn were contractions after my placenta completely separated from my uterus. The little kicks you gave me when I first laid down were the last I’d ever feel.

Just that afternoon, we were at the hospital for your NST. You were fine and we were sent home with no need for extra monitoring (a true pregnancy miracle). Less than 12 hours later, you were gone.

The doctor gave me some medicine to help me “sleep” through the c-section. I couldn’t bear the thought of watching you be pulled out of me only to never hear you cry. Your dad waited for me in the recovery room, because I wanted to preserve his memory of you. Once I came out of the sedated haze they put me in, they handed you to us, swaddled in pink, the most beautiful human being I have ever seen.

We kissed your cheeks and forehead and soaked your swaddle with our tears. You couldn’t have looked more perfect, even though you could’ve fit your whole body in your dad’s hands. Eventually, they took you away. We told you we loved you and I apologized until I was blue in the face. You needed me and I failed you. My body was a terrible home.

I still have stitches from where they cut you out of me, a scar that will forever remind me of the mother I never got to be. They will heal, and so will I, but my life will forever be missing an integral piece - my sweet baby girl, my beautiful daughter, my little best friend who I so longed to meet.

You survived just long enough so I could know you, but you left the world too quick. One of the nurses who took care of me after the c-section said you were one of the babies that was born too perfect for this earth. You were destined to skip this life and become an angel, forever watching over me and your dad.

I’ll beat myself up forever, wondering if I could’ve saved you. Maybe if I woke your dad up sooner. Maybe if one of my frantic Google searches led me to placental abruption symptoms. Maybe if I would’ve decided not to power through the pain and go to the hospital at the first twinges. Maybe then you’d be in my arms, latched to my breast, living a life of love with me and your dad. Know that I tried. I took every vitamin, went to every appointment. I checked my blood pressure, pricked my fingers four times a day, and always slept on my left side. I took lukewarm showers and stopped dyeing my hair and didn’t even look at sushi when I carried you. It was the greatest joy of my life. I would sacrifice anything, including myself, just to save you baby. I need you to know, I really really tried.

Until we meet again, I will forever long to feel your kicks. I love you my sweet Serafina.

Forever Sorry, Mom

I post on here a lot. Y'all are the only ones who understand.

Has anyone adopted after a loss? I'm so scared of another pregnancy but I want a child to raise so bad. It feels so soon after losing Owen, but it occupies my mind. Owen made me a mama but now I have no baby to raise. Adoption is so expensive but would prevent the heartbreak of another loss. Owen was 30 weeks with igur and I had severe eclampsia.

I worry another pregnancy will be like this. I can't lose another baby. It has been so hard losing Owen. He was so precious to me and I was so proud. Ioved him so much. I never want to replace him. I want to raise a baby, though. I have that love and longing in my heart now.

I feel old since I'm 33 and my husband is 37. I didn't want kids until recently. We got together not long ago and have been through a lot. Neither of us have hang ups about adoption but I know it's expensive and still mentally hard. I don't know, do any of y'all have any thoughts? I just can't lose another baby.

You’re 22 weeks and 1 day pregnant. For days, clear fluid fills a regular pad, but it has to be pee. Incontinence. Your brain can’t comprehend that it’s amniotic fluid. It’s too early. You’re at work on Wednesday and bloody discharge comes out. No. How can this be? You were just googling, “How do you know if cervix is dilating?” and “How to prevent infection during pregnancy.” You knew without knowing that something was wrong.

You and your husband slowly make your way to the hospital because it can’t be, it can’t be. You want to hold onto the normalcy for a while longer. You both get lost in the maze of the hospital. You get there and they say, “Your cervix is dilated. You’ll be here until you go into labor.” 

You cry because what is there left to do? What is this nightmare? It’s the beginning of the end. A slew of doctors come in, go out, tell you the options, tell you about NICUs, about resuscitation, about statistics and outcomes, about hope and comfort care. You remember how A made decisions with little hope left. How she held onto hope and reality at the same time. You remember that you need to be strong, do the same. Your husband kisses you and combs his fingers through your hair. He hugs you because it is all so awful, and you are so small.

The contractions start and everything signals labor. Labor. You feel terrible, but you hope it happens quickly. Your baby kicks inside you, because he’s fine, he still has amniotic fluid, but you ignore him, you ignore the feeling, because you know he’s going to die soon, and this will all end. All you can do is say you’re so sorry. So, so very sorry. Your body couldn’t hold him inside. You couldn’t keep him safe.

Your body betrays you. So you get the epidural, a fever, and it’s time to be induced. You ask the doctor if he’ll be born alive or dead. She says it’s a 50/50 chance. You don’t know which one is better. You push and push, with your husband counting for you, combing his fingers through your hair, kissing you. You do one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do. You release your son. He cries twice. They wash him and hand him over to you. He’s perfect.

For months, you hoped he’d look like his dad, and he does. Those aren’t your eyes. They’re his. His button nose. His little mouth. His long body. You knew, with a little more time, he’d have curly hair. He breathes on occasion and you don’t dare kiss him. You just hold him and hold him and hold him and give him to his father until he dies. He lies still and perfect and tiny. "Shark Tank" plays in the background. You forgot to turn it off this whole time. It’s just you and your husband in the room. Has time stood still? There’s so much peace, knowing he’s okay. He’s gone, but he’s okay. He’s gone, but his parents aren’t okay. And maybe that’s just how it is.

I went into preterm labor with my 19wk IVF baby boy on Sunday. I just received the pathology report today and it doesn’t make sense AT ALL.

The pathology report listed terms such as “Fetal Demise” and “Focal Necrosis” and I don’t believe any of that to be true. After google search, fetal demise is basically a stillbirth. My son had a strong heartbeat of 145bpm all the way up until I pushed him out. I just had a normal ultrasound Monday of last week. My cervix was deemed “incompetent” which is what caused the preterm labor. It’s literally a smack in the face to read the report and knowing what actually caused me to go into labor. It had nothing to do with my baby. We also did PGT testing on him as an embryo which check for any possible genetic defects etc.

TL/DR: Did anyone question their pathology report?

I haven't been able to stop writing since we lost our daughter at birth a year ago. I’ve put some of those words on my site, but this one feels like it belongs here.

Maybe this is what she would have said.

Unheard

I’m already here,

inside you Mama.
I stay up at night,
listening to your heart.

I’m finally here,

in your warm hands Abbu*.
But I feel really tired,
like I might slip away…
any moment…
now.

I love you.

I’ll see you soon.
I’ll find you when we all wake up again.

* Affectionate word for Dad, similar to Daddy.

Sending love to anyone who needs it. Wish you weren't here — ❤️

A button you can press that says I lost my child, stop sending me pregnancy, breastfeeding, new baby ads. I try to unsubscribe from all the emails lists, too. I've gotten countdown to baby emails from the ovia app. It hurts so much to see happy and healthy moms and babies. I want them to be happy and healthy, but I want that, too. Happy, healthy mom and happy, healthy baby.

Having a bad day today thinking about my beautiful daughter, Roux. She passed away in March 2023 and we held her funeral in April 2023. Since the funeral our loved ones rarely bring her up in conversation and if me or my partner do, it evidently makes them uncomfortable. I'll never stop talking about her, but it makes me so angry that the people we're supposed to be able to confide in make it feel like a burden to talk about her

Has anyone found a grief journal that helps with their loss? I’m wondering specifically about Megan Devine’s “How to Carry What Can’t Be Fixed” but am open to other suggestions. My daughter was stillborn in 2023 and I’m going through a really rough grief patch.

Sorry to vent. He asked me if I was exhausted resulting in my stillbirth. I said “no I wasnt” and he kept dodging saying that it’s impossible nothing had happened that I must be exhausted. He said it was so unfortunate since he was close to having a great-grandchild. And he said again I am very fat now. Like 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

I can’t stop thinking about her. She’d be 31 weeks pregnant now. Still going into work, with a proper bump. Feeling baby wriggling and kicking. Joking about how pregnancy feels like it lasts forever. Getting onto the tube with her “baby on board” badge. Old ladies telling her it’s “not long now!” Planned caesarean booked for 39 weeks. Wondering if you’d try and make an appearance before then like your big brother.

Her 20 week scan was normal. Just like with her first baby. Found out if she was having a boy or girl. Came out half an hour later all excited, agreeing on names. Starting to buy those incredibly tiny baby clothes. Nesting. Never imagining this alternative.

All loss is - obviously - horrendous. But there’s something specific about baby loss where you can physically see the direction of your life changing. As soon as you get that positive test and work out your due date, you have that timeline set in your mind. You plan your maternity leave. You think about all the ways your life will be different. The next few years of your life feel set out. Following a certain pattern. That incredibly emptiness and sense of hopelessness when that’s not there anymore. Not knowing if - or when - I’ll be able to get pregnant again. The intense combination of guilt and excitement and sadness that the thought of trying to get pregnant again, when I should still be pregnant with you, entails.

I wish I was still her 💔

Hi everyone,

I never imagined I’d be writing something like this. My world shattered on December 9th when I gave birth to my daughter at just 29 weeks. She fought so hard in the NICU for 11 days, but despite her strength, we lost her due to brain trauma caused by complications during labor. The hospital’s negligence in not taking my pain seriously and delaying care ultimately led to her passing. I don’t think I’ll ever fully understand how something like this could happen to me.

The emotional toll has been unbearable, and on top of that, I’m facing a crushing financial burden. I had to leave my job to stay home with my daughter, and now that she’s gone, I’m left without the ability to support myself. The medical bills and costs are piling up, and I’m drowning. I’m barely keeping my head above water, and every day feels like a struggle just to survive.

I’m doing everything I can to heal and rebuild my life, but it feels impossible when every step forward is met with another setback. I’m still grieving, and on top of the loss of my child, I’m terrified of losing my home, my stability, and everything I’ve worked so hard for.

If anyone can offer any support, advice, or help in any form, I would be beyond grateful. The road ahead feels so lonely, and it’s hard to know where to turn when it seems like everything is falling apart.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story. I can’t express how much it would mean to me if someone could find it in their heart to help.

I have 2 angel baby girls, today is my 2nd angels 11th heavenly birthday and Im a wreck. Tillie-Mae was born at 35+1weeks spontaneous early labour, she was tiny due to a IUGR, but they told me she was healthy yet 9 & 1/2hours later she passed, I later came to find this was due to a infection that was missed & put down to me being anxious after losing my 1st daughter 2years before at 31weeks.

Every year I try to do something to mark the day, although I think about her & her sister constantly, I try on special days like today to mark them in some way. But this year I haven't been able to do anything, no cake, no momento gift, no party tea in her honour, and its killing me. I feel like I have failed her yet again. I failed her the day she was born and the months leading up to her birth my body failed her (IUGR) and now I am failing her again. My family don't get it, they have always thought it odd the things I do for my girls on their special days, so for them me feeling this way is "silly". Its as if they are saying because my baby is in heaven, she doesn't matter, she doesn't deserve a day to celebrate or even acknowledge that she was here, that she had a pulse, a life, a future, and most of all it feels like to them that she means nothing. I don't really know what Im seeking from this post, I guess I just need to say it, maybe someone else has been in this position & can understand what Im feeling right now. I don't know how I am going to get through the rest of the day as I just feel so incredibly broken and useless, I don't feel like I deserve to be here, I just want to be holding my girls 💔