...than to write anything in pen.
Paper after paper after paper with penned signature to bring a baby girl who needed a family into our family that needed a baby.
Penned journal entry after journal entry about a baby boy who will never read how much his mother loved him.
Because he died.
A calendar that tells me that this week, I'd be 18w4d pregnant.
With my third baby boy.
Every week, carefully and joyfully marked so that my countdown could be forever memorialized and one day I'd show him how much I was waiting for him.
Written in pen.
I'd like to blame it on the pen.
But I know better.
You'd think I'd know better.