I’m sorry, I really am.

I see your beautiful sons and daughters getting bigger and doing new things, but I can’t ‘like’ the post. But I do like, even love, them in my heart, it even brings me a little smile. Children should grow and discover new parts of the world every single day. Each step they take is a milestone and every time they learn something new it should be celebrated. I completely understand why you want to share with the whole entire world, but I can’t bring myself to show how I care.

It only takes two seconds to press a button, but it’s so hard for me to acknowledge your child is thriving and mine is not here. I’ve neglected my role as a friend when it comes to others having children. I hurt inside knowing that I can never show how proud I am when Jensen does something new. I’ll never be able to record his first steps or how he smashes into his first birthday cake. My firstborn will never get a first day of school picture or a time-lapse from the beginning to the end of the year. I see all of these from all my friends and I’m truly happy for you, but it breaks my heart at the same time.

Some call it jealousy or being bitter. I admit, there’s jealousy that Jensen didn’t come out kicking and screaming and I can’t pull out my phone and show you any videos of him. There’s jealousy in never being able to share those big moments, especially when his milestone days come and he’s still not with me.

When the latest celebrity pregnancy announcement comes and everyone is re-sharing, I hide and go on a unfollow spree. When you see that joyful pregnancy post, I see all that can go wrong. I see the stillness in the ultrasound picture and innocence disappearing all in a blink of an eye. Or I see posts about how hard pregnancy is and complaints about being tired and swollen. I completely understand those pains and aches of pregnancy. At 37 weeks, I was swollen and tired. Each evening I propped my feet up with pillows, rubbed my belly, and sung Jensen a song. The life inside me made all those pains go away.

While I was pregnant, I dreamed of all the pictures I could take of him. I was determined to make a scrapbook before each of his birthdays. It would be a tradition that he would get one as a birthday present for as long as I lived. I never would have thought I would only get his ultrasound pictures and seventy-some pictures of him after he was born. That’s literally all the pictures I have of Jensen and all the pictures I’ll ever get of him. All the pictures I see online are just another reminded that I’ll never be able to get more of him.

Lately, I’ve been picturing my life and every situation on those old, weighted scales. There’s always two parts to how I’m feeling. It’s how I’ve been making decisions on what I’ll do for the day or even how I explain how I feel. Since I talk with my hands, I literally make them like a scale then dip and raise them when I’m explaining everything. On one side, it brings me joy that your child is so perfect and you’re living your dream. You post their pictures and the joys they bring you to show others, in hopes to bring others joy too. Many of you like my posts about Jensen and loss without a second thought. You’re helping a grieving momma. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with what you’re sharing and liking. I so desperately with to be on that side of the scale. Then there’s me on the other side of the scale. Afraid to look at all I’ll never have and so upset to realize time is moving forward; when I feel so stuck to the times when Jensen dancing in my belly. To counteract with the pain, I just quickly scroll past and try to focus on the positive Jensen brings me daily. I feel horrible each time I do, I want to show I care. I really do. But the scale always slides to helping me get through the day and not be stuck in a downward spiral of all the Nevers.

Friends and family, I just want you to know that I see your family’s milestones and you babies’ big smiles. I see them growing and doing all the new things. I see all of it and even if you don’t realize, they bring me a glimmer of happy and hopefulness for something in the future. But I just can’t acknowledge everything at this point of time. I’m sorry and I hope that one day I’ll be able.