When you’re fighting infertility, and/or when your child dies, the world you once knew becomes a mine field. In the beginning, when you’re unfamiliar with the territory, many many explosions occur. Over time you know where to step, where not to go, areas to steer clear of, how to tread lightly.
So it is with Target.
A few weeks ago I stood in between two aisles of the baby section and cried. I think one had toilet training seats and the other had teething rings and formula and first foods. How many times I have looked the other way going past those aisles (men’s underwear and t-shirts became intensely interesting). How many times I forced myself to look but could hardly breathe. How many times I was just so sad.
Now I cried because all those things finally belonged to me. We would be in the market for Bumbo seats and pureed green beans and those tiny plastic toilets. I could actually shop those aisles and take things off the shelf, carry them like trophies to the checkout counter.
Victory.
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