Today has absolutely no significance for anyone other than me. Not my doctor. Not my husband. Not my children.
Today was the day Zachary was due. June 11, 2010. Instead, he is just over 4 weeks old. It seems so surreal to me. It is almost like a sense of mourning. To use the word "mourning" seems rather harsh. I have an amazing little boy at the end of the teachorous road that was my pregnancy. Instead, perhaps, I should just call it a sort of melancholy. A slight sadness for the pregnancy experience that never was for me. And never will be, because even if we do try for another one down the road, I am told that history will repeat itself. And to have looked at Zach all of this time, knowing he should have still been inside of me? Mentally, I equate that to a parent kicking a teen out of their house before they are truly ready for the harshness of the world. We evicted my little angel.