Today

You should be here today.

I should be inside, keeping the house warmer than it probably needs to be. I should be crying because I still can't get you to latch on right, and carefully sitting on a doughnut pillow, trying not to worry about the couch. Your Daddy should be holding you with more confidence today. He should be looking at you with that adoring gaze that, until now, only I've gotten. He should be laughing at my mother, who would be fretting over exactly how many diapers she should change to be a perfect help without stepping on our toes. Our mothers should be telling stories about when we were babies and we should be making phone calls and facebook updates with pictures of our brand new son. We should be laughing and crying and most of all rejoicing in this little boy we all wanted so badly and loved so very much.

We should be.

But that's not what happened today. Today your Daddy woke me up to help him find a shirt to wear to work. Today he's supposed to call the genetic counselor for an update on all the testing they're doing on the bits of you and me they have. Today I got up and was out of instant coffee and milk, so pulled the bottle of diet pepsi your Daddy bought by accident to caffeinate myself. Today I bundled up in my warm fleece pajamas, in thick slippers and a hat, to sit shivering in the garage with my laptop so I can smoke at the same time I type. Today I will watch movies and do laundry, eat leftover pizza, and work on your baby book. Today I will smoke at least a pack of cigarettes.

There isn't anything wrong with the today I have. But it is so far removed from the today I want that it boggles my mind. Today my belly should be empty, but not my arms. Today I should hurt, but in my body not my heart. Today I should make milk, but it should be to feed you. Today I should cry, but they should be tears of joy.