You didn’t get the chance to breathe fresh air.
You didn’t get the chance to hold my hand.
You didn’t get the chance to meet your dad.
You didn’t get the chance to meet all the people who were excited to see you.
You didn’t even get the chance to tell the world hello.

You were in my belly for 12 weeks.
I didn’t learn about you till week 5 but I loved you all the same.
Your dad and I were so excited, and we did everything we were supposed to.
We got you a crib and clothes, even though we never got the chance to find out your gender.  
We were just so happy we finally got pregnant.

Not enough tears could fill the void you once held in my belly.

We didn’t get the chance to know your gender.
We didn’t get the chance to hold you in our arms.
We didn’t get the chance to name you.
We didn’t get the chance to paint your room.

I had a miscarriage.
It just wasn’t our time.
Miscarriages **** emotionally, physically, and mentally.
The only thing that keeps me going is knowing my grandma is up there holding a new angel in her arms.
You were going to be born in a world of love.
I can’t help but blame myself.
Maybe my body wasn’t healthy enough?
Maybe I ate something I wasn’t supposed too?
Everyone keeps telling me it isn’t my fault,
But the thoughts are still there.
I just wish I could have held you,
At least once.