You made me a mother. From the second I saw the second line, you were mine and I was going to share this world with you. Your daddy stared at me in shock when I told him, and over the two weeks you were with us, we talked about what life would be like with you in it. We were terrified, excited, and loved you more than anything. We knew that we could rise to the challenge of being your parents. 

We had nothing physical to show the world that you existed, that you had been here, the start of a life. I ached for you to be with me. On my 29th birthday, a year after I lost you on a cold hospital bed in the emergency room of an unfamiliar city, I had a symbol of you tattooed onto my wrist, where I could always see it. Three sides of a triangle represent mother, father, child, to honor you, my first child, who made me a mother, who expanded our family from two to three. I never got to meet you, never got to parent you, and yet you changed our lives completely. Now you are with me forever, a small physical comfort, a daily reminder. 

Today the world celebrates Earth Day, and millions of people are marching for science across the country. In an alternate universe, with an alternate ending, I might have carried you on my shoulders with a hand-written sign and showed you what it looks like to stand up for what you believe in. I might have worried how to keep you occupied while we were out and about during your normal naptime. We might have gone home and prepared for family and friends to come over with gifts and love, showering you with birthday wishes. But you were not meant for this earth. My arms and womb are empty. I grieve for you, miss you and all of the firsts you never got to experience. 

The world kept spinning, even after you were gone, but you haven't been forgotten. My child, my love, you are and always will be mine. Happy second birthday.