Pancakes

She'd left him upstairs, his body tangled in a mess of sheets from the hot, sticky evening prior. The sky was grey and cloudy this morning, but she just tugged the worn, green 'Faber' jersey closer around her chest. Yawning softly, and blinking slowly, she let her bare feet pad down the carpeted stairs and into the lounge room. Throwing the curtains open, what little sunlight streamed into the room was beautiful, playing on the carpet and setting off rainbows. With a soft, dreamy smile on her face, she moved into the kitchen, assembling the ingredients for her famous buttermilk pancakes. The coffee pot kicked into action, humming and buzzing as the slightly bitter scent filled the air. Singing softly as she mixed the batter and heated up a frying pan, she was surprised when a pair of arms slid around her waist, pulling her into him tightly before his hand rose to wipe the smudge of flour off her cheek. 

Ripped off.

I'm feeling ripped off constantly. Losing my baby at 21 weeks. Hitting the Caesarian date in February and it passed as I worked. No nesting, no bodily changes. I'm now two weeks away from my original due date and it hurts my heart knowing I won't be doing "normal" pregnancy stuff. I'm not on maternity leave, I didn't take classes. I'm not going to go through a regular labour. And yet, more than anything my mind feels stuck in the 21 week gestation state. I need to hold my little girl in my arms one more time and it won't happen. Not now. Not ever. She'll be in my heart, yes. I have a couple of little mementos but her room is empty and undecorated. I just feel cheated. 

Love is...

Anna Irene.