Today it kind of hit me.
I should be 36 weeks pregnant now.
Ready to get you out of my body,
and bring you into the world.
Instead, my body's empty.
Just taking up space, it seems.
I don't cry for you much anymore,
but that doesn't mean I don't feel broken.
I should be nesting,
but instead, my house is cluttered and in need of a thorough cleaning.
And I don't really care.
I should be packing my hospital suitcase,
but instead I'm packing for a 3-day "vacation" in Ann Arbor.
My son should be preparing to adjust to a major life change.
Instead, all is right and as it should be in his little world.
I'm missing you, Leila.
I'm missing all you stood for.
I'm missing the changes and upheaval you'd have brought to our lives.
I'm missing the dreams of dirty diapers,
endless 3am feedings,
a little girl dressed in pink.
I'm missing the firsts:
day of school,
when you meet the one,
and picking out the white dress.
All these little dreams are wrapped up in missing you.