The lovely chain smoking pregnant aunt accompanied the little boy to the bus stop this morning. She was charming as always. I asked her how she was doing, to which she answered, "Oh man, I have really felt like crap lately, stomach pains, stuff like that."
"When are you due?" I asked her again, assuming that perhaps the last time I asked her how far along she was, she was having a brain fart and just couldn't remember.
"I have no idea, I haven't even been to the doctor yet. I know I should probably go though, right?" And then she laughed.
Like she doesn't even care.
Maybe I am just envious. Here she is, growing this tiny life in her tummy, soon to have a fresh newborn in her arms, and she doesn't seem to be the least bit concerned about its safety. What I wouldn't give to have the discomforts of pregnancy right now, or a newborn baby in my arms.
Rick and I were expecting our third baby this year. Our happiness and excitement were cut short though, and we have nothing to show for it. Just broken hearts and tears. And emptiness. Lots of emptiness.
I don't know that that is a pain that one can ever forget. Maybe its best that way. You tend to look at the world around you with a greater appreciation, taking the time to cherish every precious moment you have with your family and friends.
But when left alone, you remember. You play what ifs and you feel guilty and you cry. And cry, and cry, until you are numb and unable to shed one more tear. Thats when the peace comes. Its brief, but its there. Until everything cycles again.