Buying baby socks and three onesies and one newborn outfit on the way to the appointment where the fetal doppler told us you were dead, the same newborn outfit I now see in the box on the closet floor every day when I drag out a sweater. My parents driving across five states to stay with our four-year-old who would have been your sibling, his hand waving out the car window when they drove him to preschool the morning we left for the hospital, as if waving you goodbye. Canceling the baby books...
