It starts pleasantly enough with me and my baby wadding in some water with friends at a family camp. I get called upon, have to attend to something or another so I ask my friend Cheryl to watch my little one who is sitting contently in a floaty. I have been gone a few minutes at most.

As I am making my way back I see my baby scrimmaging out of the safety buckle and standing on the flotation device. Nobody is minding her. I yell for help but I might as well be mute. I scream obscenities in an effort of getting someones attention. She cannot stand. Not on her own. Don't they realize this? She's only seven months old. I run but do not move. I watch as she falls in the water yet still no one has taken note. I jump in after her. I think, "This can not be happening to me, can it? Not again... I can't lose another one. How could it... ".

We dive under, searching, hoping to retrieve her but it is useless. My baby is gone. The following day they drain the lake and find my baby's body just to the other side of where she first went under.

Fast forward to the funeral. A small white chapel, white roses, white coffin. This is how it should be I think to myself. She was so small and innocent. So pure. My baby...

Roses are Red

Went to hang with some peeps today. I've been avoiding them for some time now. They were expecting and now have a second daughter. Two of the most unbelievably adorable little girls one could find.

She's kept her distance, both out of respect and out of awkwardness I presume. He peers into my soul which freaks me right out. I feel exposed like I did with James the other day.

Babies everywhere and it's not even like I can ignore them try as I might. For one, they are super cute and two it seems everyone is compelled to makes silly baby noises. I leave the room.

My first OB never gave us a due date. I imagine she suspected it would not end well. With the second pregnancy I did get one and despite my alarm the date is rapidly approching. I'm thinking of crawling under a rock.