It was such a weird day. I felt like I had MY BABY IS DEAD! blazoned across my forehead, big and bold and red as a news ticker in Times Square. I was mildly surprised that people didn't take one look at me and run away. I didn't dare chat with my pregnant customers, for fear that instead of empty niceties I might blurt out, "I hope your baby doesn't die... But it might. Mine did. My baby boy died around this time last year." (Ugh. Can you imagine?!)
I volunteered to work an extra shift at work though, because it didn't seem to matter what I was doing -- sitting, standing, laying down; writing, talking, not-talking -- I still felt exactly the same. So I figured if I'm going to be miserable regardless, I may as well make some money at the same time, right? And so. I went to work this morning, came home for two hours, and then went back to work again. I earned a little overtime, and made it through another day.
Here's hoping tomorrow will be better.
Thanks again: for reading, for hearing me, for understanding. And for the hugs. I felt them. I really did.