So, here we are on the other side of two years. You would think I would be over the little things, the surprises that cause the wound to flare up again, but I'm not.
A little girl on TV, about the age you would have been, named Layla. Spending time with a cousin that was born on your due date.
My mother in law and I were going through fabric weeks ago, and she held up a little unfinished dress and told me she thought it would fit an 18 month old girl. My heart twisted in on itself, and that instinctual mother in me, the one who has still not quite reconciled with the fact that I don't actually have an 18 month old daughter, was confused for just a split second before it all settled in again. No little girl to put in dresses.
She is here in my heart, but she is not here. It still feels wrong, sometimes. I still wish I could have both my babies.