Children, dear and loving children, can alone console a woman for the loss of her beauty. Honore De Balzac

As I approach what is most certainly going to be bad news tomorrow, news I’ve been expecting, news I knew was coming, news that comes to every woman sooner or later.

It was supposed to be later quite a few years later.  Also we were supposed to have a second kid….

I’m working on the Bean’s website that Dreamhost trashed parts of, trying to put it back together and I come across this…

Quick, go read it: The Sword of Almost Everything

and in the middle  of all the mean girl  and victim girl drama, the changing alliances, the confusion of 5th grade—I really miss those days when it was the Bean and I going on adventures. And I feel hurt far deep in my heart that I don’t get that with another child.

I’ve been putting off this visit to the doc for too long. I’m going to face the music or I guess you could call it the end of the music.  Going to be told what I already know and have known.  Going to bury my hopes or actually put the final shovel of dirt on them. Yes it’s a pity party. Yes I realize I’m luckier than most, yes I know I have one gorgeous child and some have none but t hey, sometimes I just can’t make the best of things. Sometimes it just hurts and I’m broken and sad.

I wonder though—how many years before this stops hurting? How many years before I stop feeling like something is missing?  How many years before I can take that little box with the reminders of  those lost three and bury it once and for all.