Dear Baby,

Tonight, I sit quietly, trying to imagine what life would have been like with you nestled in my arms. And when that day comes, I know I will also try to remember what life was like before you entered our world.

Looking ahead, looking back — my vision shifts. No matter how sharply I focus on you, there will always be another baby in the picture.

There was another baby, you know.

But of course, you couldn’t know. You haven’t met your siblings yet. How could you know about the one who isn’t here? The baby who came before you?

As I feel your tiny flutters, those miraculous reminders that you are growing stronger every day, I’m also reminded of something else. That while time is drawing you nearer to us, it is quietly carrying our other baby further away.

Memories that were once vivid and sharp are softening around the edges.

And as I bond with you, I find myself slowly releasing the dreams we once held for them. No matter how I try, I can’t hold on to dreams for both of you equally. My arms and heart are only human.

How will I tell you about the other baby? The one you’ll never meet. The one we had to say goodbye to so we could say hello to you.

How I wish I only ever had to say 'hello'.

How can I tell you that you were both deeply wanted? That you are still wanted? And that if I could change anything, it would be to hold you both in my arms instead of only in my heart.

One day, you may see a faraway look in my eyes. A single tear sliding silently down my cheek. It might happen as I wrap you in the same soft blanket we saved after our loss. Or when I rock you gently in the chair where your brother was once held. In those moments, I may see two babies looking back at me.

What will I say when you're old enough to ask?

Maybe I’ll tell you that loving your sibling prepared us to love you more deeply. That our world once felt grey and heavy, as if joy might never find us again. And then you came — a burst of light through the cracks of our grief.

Maybe I’ll say that the way I love you, the way I hold you, and the way I cherish you — it’s all been shaped by a soul you never met. And that somehow, their short life still touches yours.

It may not seem fair. To enter a family that has already been broken. To be loved by hearts still healing. To grow up in the shadow of someone we lost.

That sounds like a burden far too big for such a small person.

But my deepest hope is this: that through the fractures in our hearts, light pours in. That our love, stretched and scarred, is somehow even more expansive now. That you’re not living beneath a shadow but being guided by it.

We will never forget the baby we loved before you. There will always be a part of us that wonders, 'What if?' We may never feel fully complete. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t enough.

Oh, you are more than enough.

You are our miracle. Our second chance. Our answered prayer. You are everything we dared hope for, even in our most fragile moments.

You are you. Beautiful, radiant, irreplaceable you. An unfolding story, a gift from God, a life we are honoured to know and nurture.

You are our rainbow baby — a sign of promise after the storm. One day, you might still feel the wind and rain of that storm echoing through us.

But I promise this: even when my eyes well up for what was, I will love you fiercely for what is. I will live with gratitude — because gratitude has chosen me. I will honour your sibling's memory while creating a lifetime of joyful ones with you.

So, I will not wait. I will tell you now about the baby who came before you. A baby we loved deeply. A baby who made us parents. A baby who shaped the way we love.

And one day, I will whisper their name to you. I will share the stories, the dreams and the small sacred memories we carry. And in time, you may whisper their name too.

I cannot wait for that day.

Thank you, baby, for being here. For fighting to make it to us. We thank God for you every single day. And we thank Him for the one who came before you too.

With all my love, always,

Mommy