You are so cherished, and I want the world to know about you.
Back to the Beginning
Let me take you back to the beginning. It was a bustling evening in New York City, and as I prepared for a work dinner in a midtown hotel room, I decided to take a pregnancy test—just in case. After all, navigating forced networking is a lot easier with a glass of wine. To my surprise, it was positive! Cue the awkward small talk.
Some might have felt overwhelmed at the news of expecting again, especially with an 11-month-old at home and another toddler not even 2 ½. I even had a few folks question whether it was unplanned! But from the moment I saw that positive result, I was filled with excitement about you. I envisioned the three of you—Leo, Lily, and Max—creating lifelong memories together. I was overjoyed by the thought of how your father, Jake, and I had brought you into existence (or so I thought). And I couldn’t wait to see Lily continue to shine as a big sister while Max embraced his new role.
A Different Experience
This time felt different from previous pregnancies, and I embraced it wholeheartedly. With Lily, I was in a state of shock and awe: “Wow, I’m having a baby?! That’s amazing… right?” And with Max, I felt a wave of panic: “Can I handle this again? Why so fast? Lily won’t be thrilled!” But knowing how deeply I love your siblings (and how beautifully everything turned out), this time felt like destiny—a chance to add even more love to our family.
Over the next few months, I imagined what life would be like with you. I hoped you’d inherit my green eyes (a trait neither sibling has). I dreamed of you possessing Lily’s determination and Max’s cuddliness. I envisioned you being the first to master sleeping through the night so I wouldn’t have to rely on a Magic Sleepsuit for my sanity.
I imagined us bundling you in the cozy winter gear we bought, strolling through town, and spending lazy mornings sipping coffee while reading to you, waiting for spring to finally arrive. I pictured taking you off to college as the youngest, watching you shed a few tears as you saw my emotional state. I anticipated the day when Max would greet you at the hospital, showering you with slobbery kisses, just as Lily had done for him.
In My Heart
For those four months, even though you weren’t yet part of our noisy, messy lives, you were always in my heart. I loved you more with each passing day, especially after week 11 when my nausea subsided. One of my favorite memories is from Mother’s Day, spending a joyful afternoon at the park with Lily and Max, feeling your presence amongst our laughter. That day felt complete, and I will always hold it dear as one of the last moments before I had to say goodbye.
The Heartbreaking News
On a Monday morning, Jake and I took Lily to the doctor’s office, excited to hear your heartbeat and find out if you were a boy or girl. We already knew you were a boy, but we wanted to keep it a fun surprise for Lily, who loved talking about the baby in my belly. Initially, everything felt joyful as we discussed your heartbeat, which was just as perfect as hers.
Sadly, we learned that some parts of you weren’t developing as they should. Your arms and legs were far too tiny for your gestational age, and most troubling was your rib cage, which was too small for your lungs to develop. This meant you wouldn’t be able to join our family as we had hoped. We later discovered you had a genetic condition that made your bones incredibly fragile, leading to severe complications.
Saying Goodbye
Saying goodbye to you was the most challenging moment of my life. I wish I could have felt you move more often before I had to let you go—I only felt you three times, and Jake never got to feel your kicks. I wish I could have taken the time to talk to you and share everything I had written here. I worry that you’ll never know how much I loved you. I wish I could have changed what was broken when you were conceived, to give you the life you so deserved.
This is the story of how I lost my second son on May 16, 2017. After receiving an unexpected and devastating diagnosis, we faced the heart-wrenching decision to end your pain. I gave birth to you at 8 a.m. after a long labor. You had already lost your heartbeat, likely during delivery. I held you for as long as I wanted, cherishing those precious moments. Despite your small size, I noticed you had the same nose as your brother Max. A chaplain blessed you, and we named you Leo Max Littlefield. That same day, I said goodbye as they wheeled me out of the hospital without you.
Advocating for Myself
This story is also about advocating for myself. I encountered a physician who tried to pressure me into a procedure I didn’t want, even reaching out to Jake without my permission. Had I listened to her, I would’ve never held you in my arms. Thankfully, six weeks later, we received the genetic diagnosis that provided clarity. We learned about the specific mutation affecting your collagen production, leading to a diagnosis of osteogenesis imperfecta type II. We were reassured that this was likely a random event with no implications for future children.
Complex Decisions
On a broader note, this is a story about the complexities surrounding medical terminations. Although I felt I made the right choice for you, I know not everyone would agree. I hope that by sharing my story, it encourages open-mindedness about the difficult decisions some families face. What if ending a pregnancy is the best option for the baby, even if it’s hard to comprehend?
Labeling the Pain
The story is deeply personal, and I often grapple with how to describe what happened to you. Is it called stillbirth? That feels inadequate. Pregnancy loss? Abortion? I longed for you, and it feels wrong to label it in a way that diminishes my pain. In the end, does it matter what we call it? Everyone’s pain is valid, regardless of how it’s categorized.
The Power of Community
This is also a tale of the incredible power of community. From the compassionate nurse who held my hand and wept with me, to friends who reached out with messages of love, I felt embraced by kindness. Even those I hadn’t spoken to in a while shared their own heart-wrenching stories, helping me to navigate my grief.
Healing Journey
It took me months to come to terms with everything, but I see this as a story about healing. Some days feel like two steps back for every step forward. Even seeing pregnancy announcements can be painful. I often find myself on calls where people ask when I’m due, a reminder that still stings. I worry about never feeling whole again or never having a healthy baby. Yet, I’m hopeful and excited to grow my family.
A Message for You
Lastly, this is a story for you, Leo. I can’t plan your birthday parties or celebrate your milestones, but you will always be a part of my heart. I long to share my memories of you and all the dreams I had for our life together.
Resources for Others
In sharing this, I hope to encourage those considering at-home insemination to explore resources like this one and learn more about the process. You can also find valuable information regarding the home insemination kit to guide you along the way. For anyone navigating these challenges, I recommend the Cleveland Clinic’s podcast as an excellent resource for pregnancy and home insemination insights.
In Summary
In summary, this heartfelt narrative captures the love and loss of a cherished child, emphasizing the importance of community and understanding when it comes to making difficult decisions in family planning.