At 3 weeks, I knew you were there.
At 4 weeks, they told me you weren’t.
At 5 weeks, I spent that week testing because I knew they were wrong.
At 6 weeks, they realized they were wrong.
At 7 weeks, they found a spot next to you, and they were worried.
At 8 weeks, they said your heartrate wasn’t compatible with a good success rate.
At 9 weeks, you were getting stronger.
At 10 weeks, they were satisfied.
At 11 weeks, they changed their mind, they were worried. And we were scared. And we cried hard and prayed harder.
At 12 weeks, we found out you were a girl, and that your condition may not be as bad as we thought.
At 13 weeks, hell, we’re still waiting…
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