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I thought, before today, that I knew what the phrase bittersweet meant. So much of these past few months has been just that. Wonderful with a painful layer hidden underneath. But this� this is what bittersweet means. All ten fingers and toes. Every sense of relief is sharply followed by shame. Every wave of shame is met with confusion. Confusion gives way to guilt. I immediately want to reassure myself that I wouldn’t have loved the baby less if they’d had my hand. That I don’t love myself any less than I would have if I had two fully formed hands. Even if I already know those things to be
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This. All of this. What a wild and comforting feeling to read the exact thoughts I had when I learned that my babies would be born with more fingers and toes than both their parents.
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Our souls were tied a long time ago, I think. We’re just finally admitting it to each other.