So, the hormones won this morning when, upon hearing the local radio newsreader announce her pregnancy to the local world I burst into tears.
Lying in bed, using the duvet cover as a handkerchief, in between sobs this is what came out;
I miss George. I miss the George that might have been. I miss the George that lives in my head. The George who had to be invented in place of the real one who we didn't know as anyone other than the tiny form who sucked his thumb or cleverly hid his face from the sonographers tools. Our funny baby doing somersaults on screen to entertain us.
I told Ray how wonderful and terrible it is to look at George's photo and see his daddy in that little face. I haven't said this to him before. Ray said that perhaps I shouldn't look at his photo so much. But I can't NOT look. If I don't look I feel as I might forget. George feels so very far away. He says it's hard for him to not look but he doesn't because it hurts too much. He still feels anger. He wants another chance. It's not fair, there is no fair, we deserve some fair.
We talked about other far-too-private-for-a-blog stuff, drank tea and held each other for ages while being stomped on by two frantically brutish kittehs and finally got up at *gulp* 11am!
Bloody pms hormones make everything just that bit more sharp/heavy/painful/irritating/difficult/oh what e v e r.
Then I opened my email and read something quite delightful which cheered me up no end. Thank you silly girl!
A little later we went out and as we passed Ray dragged me to the jewellers to buy us two clip charms for my Pandora bracelet. Damn damn damn but I love that man!
I'm ok now.