Mama’s mad. Not at you, love. Don’t you worry your sweet heart that I’m mad at you. No sir, I’m mad because I’ve found out in the worst possible way that the old saying is true: Life isn’t fair.
I’m angry at the mom pregnant with her second child after having had two abortions because she got pregnant while her first kid’s dad was in jail and she didn’t want any kids from anyone besides him and now he’s out so it’s time to have another baby. I’m angry at the stranger in the car next to me with a toddler in the front seat with no seatbelt. I’m angry at the grandmother who’s happy about her son’s divorce because his kids’ mom was sleeping around and oh yeah, the youngest kid probably isn’t even his. I’m angry at the moms who hit their kids. I’m angry at the cast of Teen Mom OG who irresponsibly got pregnant at 16. I’m angry at the moms who yell at their kids. I’m angry at the moms who smoke while pregnant and around their infants. I’m angry at the parents who complain about waking up with their babies. I’m angry at the parents of the group of kids on TV who turned to dance because their home lives were so miserable. I’m angry at the moms who have babies and the grandparents end up raising them because the parents don’t step up. I’m angry at the parents who take the lives of their children for granted. The ones whose innocence hasn’t been shattered so they still feel like babies don’t die and all sick kids get better.
I’m angry because I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY THESE PARENTS GET TO KEEP THEIR BABIES AND YOU DIED FOR NO REASON. You were so wanted. You were an answer to a prayer I had prayed since I was a little girl. I did the best I could for you while I was pregnant with you. You were born into a love bubble, surrounded by friends and family that adored you. You knew only love. You never heard harsh words, never experienced a fight between your parents, never felt alone or undesired. We tried our very best to give you the best care we knew how to give. We followed every safety recommendation we were told to follow. I breastfed you. You slept on your back in your own bed but in the same room as your dad and me with a fan running but pointed away from you. You slept in a wearable blanket. You took a pacifier. We gave you baths but not every night because we didn’t want to irritate your baby skin. You always, always traveled strapped snugly into your correctly installed car seat. You wore sunblock (And a hat. And a rash guard.) to the beach. I eliminated milk from my diet because it made your little tummy hurt.
I would have walked through fire to keep you safe. I would have moved a mountain to make you feel my love. I would have jumped off of the Skyway to protect you.
I. Don’t. Understand. And I am FURIOUS about the unfairness of it all.
I can only pray that one day, you and God will help me see why you had to leave us so soon. That you will reveal the grand design and I’ll be so enlightened. For now, I’m trusting that while I’m in the dark, you’ll keep giving me little glimpses of the light. Tiny pieces of the plan in the form of the lessons our family is learning from your life and from your death. Sweet baby, I love and miss you so very much.
I kiss you.
Love you forever,