I woke up about 30 minutes ago and, because it was stupidly early, lay in bed thinking instead of getting right up. My eyes eventually drifted towards the picture of Thomas on the wall beside our bed, and as soon as I saw his perfect little face I realized that today would have been the day we'd have had his first birthday party.
It would have been today.
So completely, fucking, mind-blowingly insane. Would have.
I indulged for a few moments, and thought about what might have been - the cake, the cousins, the proud Grandmas and Grandpas, Auntie K and the truckload of things I know she'd have excitedly dragged into the house for Thomas...
And then I had to stop. Because really, what's the point? It's never going to happen. There's no party here today - there's just me, My Beloved and a hungry, disgruntled cat who's sitting four inches from my right arm waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting for me to go get her breakfast.
It's such a pretty morning. I think it would have been a nice day for Thomas' first birthday party.
Damn. Damn and every other expletive you can possibly think of.