Every time I look at my son I feel an overwhelming sense of disbelief. He started as this tiny little cell. And from that tiny little cell grew this perfect, healthy, tiny human being. After being told it wasn’t going to happen, I grew a human being. And with zero complications and zero medical assistance.

A few months after finding out I was pregnant, one by one dear friends of mine were announcing that they were as well. My best friend, who had also been battling infertility for a few years, announced that she was expecting. My sister in law, after battling endometriosis, announced she was pregnant with her second. I was surrounded by beautiful women carrying tiny growing miracles.

And with each announcement came new reminders that life is fleeting, life is terrifying, and it can all change in a matter of seconds.

I remember going through my entire pregnancy, especially early on, just waiting for something awful to happen. The whole thing was too good to be true, it had to be. Every single morning I woke up thinking ‘God, please don’t let me lose him…please don’t let me miscarry…’ Each and every day was perfect, yet horrifying.

Some of you may know that my due date came and went. My monster was supposed to have been a June baby (like his mother). But, in true Barnes fashion, he made his own decision and did what he wanted when he wanted. And the ‘when’ did not match up with his mothers. I spent the week leading up to my due date, as well as every day following, begging this boy to get a move on. Every single day up until June 29th.

On June 29th I received a call that one of these beautiful women had lost her tiny miracle at 25 weeks. After having several complications that she had been unaware of, her sweet boy went to meet our Heavenly Father and I could do nothing more for her than cry. I cried for her, for her husband whom I had grown up with, and for his mother, my mothers best friend. She had no other choice but to give birth to her son who had already gone home.

And all I could think was please God don’t let me go into labor yet…please…

A little over 24 hours later I was heading to the hospital and my son was on his way. I kept thinking the same thing, please don’t let them see me… I didn’t want to cause them more pain and rub salt in such an already devastating wound. But God had other plans and obviously knew what these friends of ours needed. We were right down the hall from one another. And our boys share the same birthday, July 1st 2016. As my labor had just started, a nurse walked in with a note that read “Please do not feel guilty. This is your time and it should be filled with great joy. We love you.”

While they endured a pain I cannot even begin to fathom, they had concern for my joy. And to this day I can’t wrap my brain around such love, respect, and wisdom. I love them both so so much. But I felt so so so guilty for being so close by with a perfectly healthy baby boy on the way, while they said goodbye to theirs just down the hall.

Now, as I sit and rock my miracle to sleep and enjoy his intoxicating smell, I feel the sting of that guilt again. Another friend lost her baby today. It would have been her first. I don’t know how far along she was as they had not yet announced that they were expecting. But all the same I can’t imagine their pain.

I can only describe this feeling as a type of survivors guilt. I waited so long to see the word “pregnant” flash across a pregnancy test screen. So holding this son of mine is nothing short of unbelievable. I still can’t believe he’s mine. But he is, and I had it so easy when I was pregnant. Yet these two equally healthy, young, loving women didn’t. And my heart is just absolutely broken for them.

I know I’ve rambled on a lot to make such a small point. But I needed to get it out. I realize these are things none of us have control over. But I’m a fixer. I want so badly to be able to help those I hold dear, to be able to heal hearts. But things like this…ugh.

Love each other y’all… XOXO ❤️


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