I gave birth to my Tallulah girl in the spring of 2019 at 12.5 weeks.
I remember waiting to tell friends, family, everyone, until I knew she was safely past the point when parents tend to experience loss. I remember the nervous excitement carrying her as my own little secret.
Like nearly every woman in my family, I struggled with a severe case of endometriosis and was moving through a breaking point in that journey, searching for answers. After several ruptured ovarian cysts, blood transfusions, and a variety of medications attempting to lessen the hormonal imbalance of estrogen in my body. I was unsure of what my body would do with her growing inside. My doctors assured me she would be fine if we continued the path we were on.
I remember my excitement moving through those weeks with her inside me, picking out a Strawberry Shortcake doll for her like the one I had when I was small, onesies, little blankets with wild horses and tucking them away in a chest beneath my bed. I remember writing little love notes to her until the day she both entered and left this world too soon.
I did not just have a miscarriage. I lost my little girl, and likely the only little girl I will have the gift of conceiving. While her body may not have physically survived in this world, the playful tender spirit she carried and inspired while inside me those few months lives on. I placed a small stone heart surrounded by flowers under the silver maple in my yard and speak to her there, yet the little voice I connected with while carrying her finds me and softens the world so sweetly as I go.
Photos taken by Jess Hopkins Photography.
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