"How are you?"
Barely hanging on. Today at the grocery store I saw a pregnant woman, about as far along as I should be, and it was all I could do to turn away. I wanted to go up to her and tell her to enjoy it, because it could all be taken away in a second. I cry every day. I sleep with the blanket he was wrapped in, because if I don't, I will wake up thinking I am still pregnant. I sit in the grass in the backyard reading, and absently stroke my belly, before remembering that it's now empty after it was full of possibilities for five entire months. I go on a walk, and I imagine pushing a stroller. I hear tiny children giggling on the other side of the fence, and my heart seizes. I can barely choke down the prenatal vitamin, which I still have to take, because it reminds me of what I don't have. I count the days since it all happened. I smell the flowers that people have sent the instant I walk in the front door. I will never think of lilies the same way again. I get the mail and dread seeing condolence cards, but I fear the day they stop coming because that will mean they forgot. I hate looking in a mirror because I no longer have a pregnant belly...just a fat one, and I hate it. I'm hurt that Chris doesn't feel the same sense of loss and pain that I do. I worry that I will never feel truly happy again. I can't wait to be pregnant again, but I'm terrified to be pregnant again.