The lovely Catherine loaned me her copy of An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination, by Elizabeth McCracken, and I couldn't put it down until I was finished reading the entire thing.
I won't write a review...because that's not who I am...but this line toward the end of the book had me weeping for the truth of it...
"To remember that he was dead, but to remember him without pain: he's dead but of course she still loves him, and that love isn't morbid or bloodstained or unsightly, it doesn't need to be shoved away."
I may be a freak. I may be the the thing that pregnant women don't want to hear about. I may always be a little sad (and say sad things).
But I love my babies. ALL of my babies.
I will not apologize for it. And I will not hide it.