Sometimes I allow myself to think of what might have been. We could be preparing for a baby to enter the world. Our son.
Buying way more stuff than one baby could ever need.
Going to a baby shower. For our baby.
Stocking up on cloth diapers, wondering if we'll get the hang of it.
Painting and decorating our middle bedroom.
My breasts and belly would be swollen and my back would ache.
We'd be anticipating B.'s arrival, knowing that any day, we'd see his face, kiss his toes, marvel at his soft baby skin.
We'd proudly hand him to his grandparents. The first grandchild for all four.
Sometimes I let my imagination run away.
Because we'll never see our boy, never hold him in our arms. Never tell him just how much he means to us. That he is our world. That we waited and waited for him. That no baby was ever loved more.