Yesterday, on FB, a friend posted a picture from her son’s first birthday.
I had forgotten that A and I were initially pregnant at the same time. She was due on May 1. I was due on April 24. She gave birth naturally, happily on April 23rd. Ander had been dead for nearly three months.
He should be one. It blows my mind. Had things gone to plan, I would have a one year old. K and I would be talking about starting to try for our second.
What the hell is this alternate reality I’m living in?