Some days I'm acing all the I'm okay, you're okay, we're okay.
Other days there's a newborn in Sprouts with that newborn wail and the mama is just trying to get her shopping done and doesn't pick the infant up.
On those days, I think about my newborn. The one who should be getting here any time. But she's not. Because she died. And I hear that infant as it cries for a solid fifteen minutes straight and my mind is flooded with the fact that we bought onesies and diapers and we set up a crib and we were so blasted excited. So right there, smack in the middle of the grocery store, I just start to cry. My eyes drip and there's no controlling it and I look like a fool. And it's all because there's this spot in my heart that just hurts like nothing has ever hurt before.
And, you guys, I hate the sleepless nights. I really do. I've told many a person that I'm at my parenting worst when it's the middle of the night and that one week old is screaming again. Somehow, that doesn't change the fact that right now, in this very moment, I'd give ANYTHING to be losing sleep.
Most of the time, I'm just doing pretty well with pretending that there isn't a lump in my throat and a deep, bloody wound where my heart used to be.
But leave it to that newborn cry to shake all the tears loose.