I was thinking about something that happened while I was in the hospital after having Owen. After we had said goodbye to Owen for the last time and were getting ready for me to be discharged, I asked the nurse if I could take a shower before we left. I needed that shower for so many reasons. She agreed, but only if I left the door ajar and she stayed in the room while I was in the bathroom. She warned me not to make it too hot and not to let the water run on my chest. She didn't want me to stimulate milk production, I guess. At that point, I so didn't care. I needed that water. So, I got my stuff together. I turned the water on (hot) and stepped in. I stood there, facing the spray, letting the water run over me for several minutes. Then I looked down and realized that I had gotten in the shower with all my clothes on (hospital gowns, bra, socks, etc.) I hadn't even noticed. At the time, I was so humiliated, I cried. Now JD and I can laugh about it, but I always think about it when people talk about grief. It made me blind.
Owen has been gone for six months. That's all I can say about that right now.
* Sorry for disappearing for a little while. J, my 4 year old, has had scar.let f.ever. It was all very 19th century literary novel-ish.