...I would be getting ready to go find out I was having a boy, instead of getting ready to pick our car up from the shop.
...I would be meeting my friend Meghan there, and she would play with and distract Charlie.
...I would be heading to the store to buy this, and putting it in a box with a blue balloon that would float out when opened.
...I would be driving to Tim's office to surprise him with said box.
It was going to be a great day.
Truthfully, I don't always have the holiest outlook on this situation.
Yesterday I sat down with my coffee, looked at Tim and burst into tears, complaining that my "human" summer clothes (read, not maternity) were out of style. He offered to take me shopping for new clothes, and I got even weepier, saying, "But I don't want to wear regular clothes! I want to be pregnant!" Poor guy. He couldn't win.
I wish, much to frequently, for a mulligan. Just a little trek back to a few weeks ago, and everything could go differently.
I continually scold myself for having complained about anything pregnancy related, and for worrying about logistics instead of enjoying the life within me.
Grieving is an unpredictable process, one I sometimes handle with grace, and other times with petty selfishness and whining.
If I'm being honest.
There's no real point to this post, just thoughts running through my head, needing an outlet.