Forgive this rambling post. Exhaustion and fevered numbness has set in, and I'm trying to process the millions of random thoughts and feelings that are keeping me from just falling asleep.
Breastmilk has cholesterol in it. Formula does not. Did you know that?
One of the things we learned from Dr. Porter today.
It's hard not to to be struck by the futility of my alarm clock going off every three hours so I can pump. Especially since I am so very, very tired. But I want to give Harper what I would give any daughter of mine, even if I can't nurse her to do it.
Maybe it's that minute amount of cholesterol that is keeping her strong.
This evening I began to think about things we might do to help heal when Harper was gone. Take a vacation. Have another baby. Get back to Shea's potty training. Cry less every day.
Then I felt horribly guilty, for even thinking beyond her, as if dismissing her already.
When you know your baby is dying, when you've come to peace with your decision to not put her through a lot of interventions, to let her go, it becomes even harder to know what to root for.
A quick death for our tiny one? Selfishly, I want to both violently shove away and embrace this wish. I can't imagine that last moment with her. Reaching a point where I won't feel her breathing and warm in my arms, as I try to snuggle (or " 'nuggle," as Shea would say) with her amidst all the wires.
At the same time, I feel like we have lived a lifetime in the past twelve days. We have mourned the baby we thought we were having. We are mourning the baby we have barely begun to know. While I'm not fool enough to believe that losing Harper will make the sadness stop, there is a sense that her leaving will let us move on to the next part of our lives, the part in which we learn to live without her.
When I'm with Harper, I very much wish I was not such a snotty weeper. It's one thing to drop endless tears on her itty bitty head, it's another to drip gross snot. Fortunately, the nurses in the NICU are quick with boxes of tissues when you need them.
Today, in the mail, I received a package of sleep sacks. I had ordered them a few weeks ago, because the clubfoot support boards all recommended this brand for babies wearing the boots and braces necessary to correct club feet, and they were on big sale. Now I wonder what to do with them and all of the baby stuff and kind presents little Harper has received. Save them for the next little one? No resolution to that question feels right, too raw right now.
Shea would like to bring Harper the little duckie lovie sent by her Tanta Jen and Uncle Mark. That, I think, we can do.
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