It’s September and I should be 35 weeks pregnant. We should be putting the finishing touches on the nursery. I should be waddling like a penguin. My husband should be figuring out how to put a car seat in our vehicle.
If I was still going to a counselor, she’d probably say something about living for the future and moving on from the past. She’d probably tell me it’s time to let go of the “should have.” I know this. My head knows this. But wherever it is that rage, and anger, and anxiety live – that part of me doesn’t know it. That part of me sees October 29 speeding toward me. I am about to be in a head on collision with my due date and there is no way around it.
I wish Hallmark made cards for times like this. I should write them and tell them to nestle a section in near the sympathy cards. The marker could say something like, “Remembering Estimated Due Dates.” The cards would have stars and moons and say things like “Today probably hurts more than childbirth. I’m sorry.”