I feel terrible. My eyes fill with tears and I have to bury my face in the parasite-ridden kitten I am holding until I have control of myself.
If I'd wanted to go through this kind of guilt again, I'd have had another baby. Although I never felt quite this bad over a human infant.
I was 37 when he was born and quite old and vicariously experienced enough to know that no one knows more than a baby's mother.
Partly, I suppose, because I never missed an actual medical requirement or treatment with him but also because I was somehow able to shrug off any lesser criticism.
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