Eighteen... how can this be?

The weather today was beautiful, much nicer than the below seasonal temperatures we've been having during much of September. Despite the fact that I've had a nasty head cold and the beginnings of another mastitis infection, I was determined to get the kids outside for a while since it had been days since I had actually left the house at all. I plyed myself with enough tylenol to make my throbbing headache disappear for a few hours, and we headed to the next town over, the place which ever since Freja's death, has become somewhat of our place of comfort.

The sun was shining, and the girls romped through the fields of green grass. Throughout the park, trees were turning beautiful shades of fall colors. There was a crisp breeze off the lake and a freshness in the air. As I nursed Soren on a bench, the radiantly warm sun shone down on the side of his face and at that moment I ached so deeply for my baby girl who never had a chance to feel it on hers. As the kids ran and played, I imagined what life would've been like with our little girl who would be turning 18 months old tomorrow. I'm sure she would've loved this day.

Tomorrow should've been a celebration of one-and-a-half years. Eighteen months has always seemed like a big milestone to me, when babies begin to change rapidly into toddlers. Their little unique personalities emerging and their vocabularies growing by the day. Boo was nineteen months old when Freja was born, and she had a huge understanding of everything that was going on around her. It's hard to imagine that Freja would've been almost that same age.

I open up my closet and still find tiny pink sleepers hanging in there, amongst the recent addition of tiny blue clothes. I imagine they will hang there in limbo forever, just as my heart will.