I was emailing my favorite aunt this morning about Baby Girl (she and my Uncle were 22 when I was born, I was their practice baby – that is until my Uncle died of leukemia when I was 9 – seriously, nobody in the family is over that yet and it’s been 25 years – that’s how I learned that grief takes as long as it takes – oh and they lost a baby at 36 weeks, so we get each other).  She’s a neonatal nurse of about 30 some odd years, her new husband was the head of the NICU (retired now) and the two of them met working on a mist that helps preemies with under-developed lungs.  If you had a preemie in the last 15 years, you benefitted from their research.  Anywho, she said something to me today that outside of the world of deadbabymamas would be totally upsetting and weird but for me, it was awesome:

Aunt G: “How far along are you?”

Me: “28 weeks and some change”

AG: “Perfect.  White, female, 28 weeks – totally viable in the NICU.  We don’t want Baby Girl in the NICU but if it happens from this point on, she’d be good.”

Me: “Great!”

Oddly comforting in a scary way…

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