I wonder if this will ever end. This "I'm-happy-for-you-but-sad-for-me" phase. With every new spring chicken hatched, it gets a little, well, fuzzier, I guess. But the sting is still there.
It just makes me so sad that the babies are a-plenty for, seemingly, everyone else. But us. But really, I can't indulge in that thinking too much, because we are lucky enough to have our living son.
Thank. The. Fricking. Universe.
Every baby has his or her issues. That idealized baby image goes kaput as soon as that kid comes out screaming. But he, she, whoever, comes out. Screaming. Unlike ours. Son of a fricking beesting.
it's just been a weird couple of days. Ebbs and flows, ebbs and flows goes the grief. It hits without warning, sucker punches me when I'm feeling fine. She's a bitch, she is.
By my count, we've lost:
*our little girl--duh.
*innocence about being/getting/staying pregnant.
*a spring, a summer, a life we'd planned.
*gallons, oceans, buckets of tears.
On and on and on. And when I think about that fateful weekend, I flipflop between "It's already been 2 months" and "It's ONLY been two months."