I'm cold and shivering, rattled by the worst news one could imagine:
My friends' baby just died. She was only 2 months old.
She was born via c-section because she was breach, and that sweet little thing had little frog legs pointed up to her ears. She was tiny - 5 lbs. or so and on the short side, too.
Her parents questioned why she was small, but the doctors weren't concerned.
I don't know all the details, but at some point recently they realized she wasn't gaining weight appropriately, and doctors discovered she had a congenital heart defect.
She was in the hospital getting a "simply palliative procedure" done yesterday to tide her over until she was bigger and could have open heart surgery. It was all supposed to fix the problem. Her only limitation was supposed to be that she may not be a stellar athlete.
And then ... she died. I don't know the circumstances. I'm sure we can all figure it out. That sweet, tiny baby just must not have been strong enough to endure the surgery.
And I. Am. Gutted.
That poor girl and her grieving, scarred parents, who are such sweet people and so dear to me.
I'm glad I was lucky enough to hold her after she was born and kiss on her sweet face. I'm glad her parents even got 2 months with her, when I know a lot of parents have stillborn children and never get to see their child's open eyes.
But the grief is the same.
Oh, their aching hearts. I wish there was some way I could help, but I know all I can do is speak her name and always remember her.
RIP, sweet girl.