I hate that I'm writing another one of these posts . I hate it. I'm so angry. Angry at my body. Angry at God. Angry with everyone. Angry that I will never get to hold another one of my babies. Right before Christmas, I started feeling some familiar symptoms. Little twinges here and there. I knew I was pregnant. Last Thursday, those two glorious pink lines confirmed my suspicions. Pregnant. Due on Morgan's birthday no less! Overwhelming happiness. The happiness quickly turned into shear panic and anxiety. "Don't get attached, don't get attached" screamed through my head. The lines were so faint. It was so early. I no longer had my pregnancy innocence. That light-hearted joy that I had when I found out I was pregnant with Henry. I now know first hand that not every baby comes home. The next day I took another test. I'm kind of a psycho and just had to see the lines again. Well, unlike both my other pregnancies, this time the lines didn't...
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