Late at night, when my grief wakes me up, the guilt is what actually keeps me awake—the running through every time during the pregnancy that I had caffeine, got stressed over something that now seems stupid, every time I ate something unhealthy because my morning, or rather my all-day sickness, restricted what I could handle eating. I think about when she was in the NICU and how if I had been there more, talked to her, bonded better with her, that she would have hung on longer. I think about how if I had been a better mom, then she would still be here.
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