Drama / 1 Female / 5 Minutes

We started buying clothes for her four months into my pregnancy. A little early, I know. But we were just so excited to finally become parents! And, we knew, in our hearts, that this little girl we were bringing into the world would be more perfect than life itself. So we had to make everything perfect. For her.

We struggled, at first, to find anything perfect enough for our forming angel. The first thing we found, although silly it sounds, was this pair of pink shoes. They were soft to the touch, miniscule in my hands. The crocheted fabric blended together perfectly in tiny stitches, too small for a baby to unravel even if she tried, which she might’ve, if she had the chance. The shoes were adorned with these big, pink, lace bows. Placed perfectly on top of each shoe, the bows were a baby pink, which made them perfect for us. Perfect for her.

Soon we would find perfect little onesies, hats, and all the little blankets to keep our sweetheart warm on the cold days meant to come. And as winter rolled around, I made sure I would be perfect for her. I took on babysitting my nieces at any spare moment, holding them as I would one day hope to hold my own child, tight in my arms. I would protect my family however I could, protect these children however I could, protect my unborn angel, however I could.

Then it happened. The date was February eighth. My husband and I had already gone to the hospital five times for false contractions, and so we tried to wait these ones out, following orders my doctor had told me. Maybe that’s what did it. By the time we realized we couldn’t wait these out, my husband grabbed our perfect pre packed hospital bag. I couldn’t move. The pain was unbearable, and I couldn’t get to the car. My husband grabbed his phone and dialed for an ambulance. He assured me I was okay. He assured me our daughter would be okay. However, by the time we arrived at the hospital, it was too late. I faced… complications, in birth. That’s what they said. Complications. Complications which made the doctors ask my husband if he should save me, or her.

The doctors say they are thankful for his quick decision. For choosing me. But, I wouldn’t have. I would have chosen her life over mine. Every time. I didn’t even get to hold her before she was gone. I didn’t get to say goodbye to my beautiful child.

But, here I am. Seven months later. My therapist says it is time I begin to move forward with my life again, and my husband agrees. So, I am here today, offering a resale. I’m selling these pink plush baby shoes. Never worn.