painting by Lulie Wallace
The tears started unannounced in the shower. In my head, I began running through different parts of my morning, trying to figure out the reason they showed up--I sent a sick husband off to work, the day was cloudy and cold, it's Monday. But, no, I couldn't blame it on hormones or anything else. I could tell-- today was just a day for being sad.
It wasn't until I was out of the shower and dressed that I realized it's been two months since we met our baby. Two long months since we held her, with hearts that were so, so sad. Two months since we sat on that hospital bed, in awe of this tiny baby with perfectly formed fingernails, and knobby knees, and two tiny buds for ears that were just starting to unfold, just starting to hear my voice. I would have been 30 weeks along today, but instead of feeling the jabs from those tiny knees, I am empty. My body is healed and back to normal and so lonely. Two months not pregnant.
Of course, things will turn around. The prayers and devotions will help. I'll perk up in a few hours when Ryan comes home from work. I know tomorrow will be better, as it always is. But for now, I'm missing my baby girl and letting the day be sad.