Yesterday the moment came that I had been preparing for. I was looking at a house while Chris was at work. The realtor casually asked that ubiquitous question, "Do you have any children?" In my head I responded just as I'd rehearsed. A calm, matter of fact, "No living children." No hysterics, no drama just a simple acknowledgment of my daughter's existence. What actually came out was a cheery, "Not yet!"
Maybe it was better that way. Certainly more comfortable for her. Less comfortable for me though. My poor baby girl, not only did you not survive, now I'm pretending like you were never here. All for the comfort of strangers.
I'm going to have to learn to live with the alternate reality I'm now in. Everyone who doesn't know sees Chris and I as a childless couple, which I guess we are. But I know that I have/had a daughter. That she was real and opinionated and very much her own little self. I carried her. I gave birth to her. I'm her mother. I'm a mother with no child to show for it. This puts me in a strange, cruel place.
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