In the Museum of Science and Industry there was a human life exhibit, and a display room featuring the growth and development of a human fetus. I walked quickly past each fetus-sized doll in their glass display cases until I reached the 20-week-sized doll.
And then I stood and looked, and looked, and looked. They don’t sell baby dolls in this size, in these proportions. Had there not been inches of thick glass to prevent me, I would have picked it up, and held it in my arms. Just to feel the almost nothing-weight, measure the 8.5 inches in my arms, take in the transparency of the skin and fine-ness of each curling finger and toe and ear.
I will never get that moment with her body in my arms back. I fought against the black clouds of unconsciousness as nurses changed out sheet after sheet of my blood. I tried to study her intently but the drugs and blood loss and numbness of grief made it hard to see anything at all.
Oh that little doll, in it’s little box. My little love in her little hooded blankie. My hopes and dreams turned to dust, sealed inside its plastic, sitting on my nightstand, still. It only takes something small, and the world of babyloss comes roaring back to life.
Mother of All Things 
Just wanted to send a cyberhug your way.
Hug after hug after hug.