I cry every day. Every. Single. Day.
I would say that 65% of every day is thinking about my baby girl and wishing she was still in my belly. She would be here in 3 weeks and 1 day from today, based on my due date. I would be a walking house right now… preparing to be ready for the hospital, her nursery would be finished, my feet would be swollen, I would be kick counting all day. Instead, I never got a chance to feel her little feet. I will always wonder if she would have her daddy’s nose or my red hair. I will always think about the day I would get to bring her home from the hospital. I will always have to create my own what ifs and memories. I will Never. Get. To. Hold. My. Baby.
I often think about the day we found out… sitting in the dark ultrasound room. After the most horrible moment of my entire life, the nurse asked me if I even wanted to take home the CD with the pictures of my baby on it. As if I didn’t want to have the pictures of my baby?!?! As if I was just going to say “Oh well, we tried” and go home and forget about it?!?! One would think that a nurse has been exposed to enough horrible situations like that one to know that just because my baby will not live does not mean I am going to forget she existed. One would think to have the common courtesy that if you didn’t give a shit that I was losing my baby, atleast you would give me the benefit of the doubt that I give a shit. What mother wouldn’t?!?! All I have is that fucking picture and her ashes. And I hold my necklace with her ashes in it and cry Every. Single. Day.
No comments:
Post a Comment