'... she's great with the kids, really loves them. She's had her own though, it's not like she needs them as some kind of substitute...'
He doesn't say it – I doubt the thought even crosses his mind – but I hear the end of his sentence.
'not like you guys.'
(Sometimes i wonder if that's why we've attached so hard to his baby. Because this is the only chance we'll ever get to interact this closely with a baby as it grows up.)
And in work the other day. Two people talking about one of their colleagues:
-oh, no, can you imagine her pregnant?!
-would be awful, wouldn't it?
-oh, don't worry anyway, i think you're doing enough to keep the human race alive!
-i am! i'm very generous aren't i?
One of them knows what happened to me. The other, I'm not sure about. But still. I had to bite back the retort. Just for a second.
-Don't worry. Maybe if she got pregnant she'd lose her baby. Like I did.
I don't wish it on the girl. Of course not. I wouldn't wish what happened to us on my worst enemy. But... I just wanted to make them realise. How very painful that snippet of conversation was to me.
But it's not the kind of thing you can say at lunchtime as your colleagues make a round of cuppas, is it?
I'm sick of having to go through this. Still. Even after all this time.
Over seven months, and still no sight or sound or sniff of a second baby for us.
I remember when i heard Dannii Minogue was pregnant. It was just a few weeks after we lost our baby. I read an interview with her in a magazine while I was at the hairdressers. She sounded so happy and optimistic, and I cautioned her in my head. Don't get too excited yet. There's still a lot of time for things to go wrong.
But of course, they didn't. And now she has a baby. A living baby.
Me? I have nothing to show for the last seven months, or the last fifteen for that matter. No positive pregnancy test. No little bump. No big bump. No baby.
I have little or no hope or optimism left.