hormones......meh.
I'm ovulating, and I'm seeing lots of pictures of newborn babies on my FL. Makes me feel kind of broody, and kind of sad that I won't ever be pregnant, give birth, or breastfeed a baby again. And as soon as that thought passes through my mind, I am instantly thankful and relieved that I won't ever be pregnant, give birth, or breastfeed again!
A customer came in to work today and was looking through our selection of road maps. He was holding a teeny little baby boy and I went over for a peek....
"Ohhh, he's adorable! How old is he?
Three months. He was pretty small when he was born.
How big is he now?
Just over 11 lbs. He was just over 5 lbs at birth. We had twins.
{{{silence}}}
Two boys or two girls?
Two boys."
{{{{silence again}}}}
I felt like he was waiting for me to ask about the other baby, but I didn't. I wish now that I had. I wish that I had confirmed my awful assumption, expressed my sympathy, told him about Abby, and showed him my tattoo. As our conversation ended and I walked away, I continued the conversation silently, to myself.
"I'm so sorry. I understand, I really. My daughter lived for 7 hours and died three years ago", then I would discreetly show him her footprint tattoo.
It's unusual for me to not share about Abby's life and death, but it just didn't feel right. Maybe because he was the dad, and not the mom? I don't know. Since then I haven't been able to stop thinking about Abby's short life,thinking of what a beautiful baby she was; her fuzzy hair, her tiny hands, her chubby cheeks - baby lust to the extreme.
A customer came in to work today and was looking through our selection of road maps. He was holding a teeny little baby boy and I went over for a peek....
"Ohhh, he's adorable! How old is he?
Three months. He was pretty small when he was born.
How big is he now?
Just over 11 lbs. He was just over 5 lbs at birth. We had twins.
{{{silence}}}
Two boys or two girls?
Two boys."
{{{{silence again}}}}
I felt like he was waiting for me to ask about the other baby, but I didn't. I wish now that I had. I wish that I had confirmed my awful assumption, expressed my sympathy, told him about Abby, and showed him my tattoo. As our conversation ended and I walked away, I continued the conversation silently, to myself.
"I'm so sorry. I understand, I really. My daughter lived for 7 hours and died three years ago", then I would discreetly show him her footprint tattoo.
It's unusual for me to not share about Abby's life and death, but it just didn't feel right. Maybe because he was the dad, and not the mom? I don't know. Since then I haven't been able to stop thinking about Abby's short life,thinking of what a beautiful baby she was; her fuzzy hair, her tiny hands, her chubby cheeks - baby lust to the extreme.