We received another NICU invite for Daniella. Fucking idiots. My husband is going to call them and remind them that she’s dead. I hope he tells them to go to hell too – but he’s far more diplomatic than I am. Last year the theme for the party was ‘pirates’, this year it’s a jungle theme. Truth be told it’s not as upsetting as it was last year; I don’t know if it’s time gone by or my Ziggy (that’s what Beefcake calls this baby)…but it doesn’t hurt as deeply.
Conversely, weekly pregnancy updates have been pretty difficult to read. I must cry after reading each one. As of 24 weeks they have been all about the baby’s lungs preparing to breath upon birth. They also discuss viability. The updates leave me thinkging if Daniella could have lived had we made it to 24 weeks?…25 weeks? I mean, truly – how close was she? Was it fate? Would she have died regardless? These question are maddening. It just brings me back to that moment in the NICU when I saw her tiny chest heave…I watched my poor baby suffocating. It was then that I told her the greatest lie i’m yet to tell – I told her it was ok to leave me if she was in pain. I miss her bitterly.