On day 3, my milk came in. I had my bath and I came back down stairs, and I looked down, and there were two identical milk patches on my clothing. The next day, I stood in the closet, getting dressed, watching rivulets of milk make their way down my body. Eyes are not the only things that weep for our dead babies.
I walked down the aisle in the drug store, the aisle of baby things, looking neither right nor left. I walked until I saw the box from the corner of my eyes, and I picked up the first one on the shelf, and I put them in the cart. I went to the grocery store, and I bought cabbage and sage leaves. I bought frozen peas.
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Mrs. Spit Spouts Off is a guest blogger for Bridges.