It's a Roller Coaster Dip Kind of Afternoon

I miss my baby girl so, so much.

I wish there was a way to avoid the things that make me miss her so keenly. Things like pregnancy announcements on facebook about new baby girls coming into the world soon, or photos of newborns, curled up on their dads' chests. Things like observing other people's normal, mundane days with their kids. All I can think, over and over, is how my baby is gone, dead, and she is never coming back. She'll never get to run around the living room like a hooligan in her underwear. She'll never be fussy or cover me in spit-up. She'll never hold her daddy's hand. Her life ended before she ever got to make one decision. Ever got to be bored, or happy, or sad.

I wish I could be more emotionally honest around my friends, but I fear the escape of even one tear would mean the floodgates would open. So I hold it all inside, then it comes ripping out of me when I walk back into my home.

I am so sorry, baby girl. So sorry that you're gone. So sorry I didn't know somehow that you were in trouble. Mamas are supposed to keep their babies safe, and I didn't know. I feel like I failed you. I am so sorry. I would do anything to go back. I would give up my own life if it would mean you got a chance to live. I will never get to hold you, never get to teach you anything, never get to comfort you. Instead, I will just miss you with every part of me, every day. I hope that in heaven you're being held by someone. That you are surrounded by love, and that you know in some part of you how much I am loving you down here.

I miss you, I miss you, I miss you, baby. And I love you so much.