Sometimes it takes a minute - or a month - to catch your breath.
That's how i feel about you, Tiny.
i thought that maybe since you were so wee - and my husband so unready... i thought that since i was so overwhelmed and my children so unsuspecting - that maybe i just wouldn't have to hurt over your Homecoming... quite so much.
But there's this queer little ache that refuses to be shushed.
And i don't care if i'm thought ridiculous anymore.
i don't care.
i don't need or want to talk with anyone about it - but it seems i'm incapable of escaping grief altogether... and so in this sojourning place... i'll just whisper the words of this post...
i would have loved you, Tiny.
i would have defended your existence to your hesitant daddy. i would have cleared out a tiny spot for you to lay your downy head. i would have gone though morning sickness, stretch marks, discomfort and illness... in a heartbeat. i would have taken the disapproving looks of friends and strangers...
i would have protected you with every ounce of strength i have...
if i'd have had the chance.