It seems to start slowly. Sometimes I just feel like an anesthetic has been pumped into my system. Sunday, I helped a mom with an infant get her cart cozy situated. I talked to her for 5-10 minutes, helping get the thing in the front of the cart, touching her son’s feet enough to get his legs in the foot holes. I was okay. She seemed grateful, as she explained that her husband had bought it and used it. She had no idea how exactly it fit in the cart. Anyway, I was okay. I didn’t wince at the sight of the baby or roll my eyes at his mom. I didn’t get wistful or well up with tears.
Four days later I’m crying so hard in my car that I think, honestly, that I may choke on my own tears because I can’t get enough air into my lungs.
It was a baby boy outfit. Size 9 months, khaki overall shorts with a striped / bug design onesie. I just kept walking around the store, clutching the outfit and the toy I found (that almost matched the design). I felt like I was in a daze. Had anyone tried to take the things out of my arms I probably would have collapsed on the floor. Can I really make it through a christening party on Sunday?
I am disappointed. I was excited about the prospect of being indifferent.