I've seen enough psychotic thrillers to wonder if maybe I'm not in touch with reality.

I mean, this isn't supposed to happen. Maybe it's all in my head, and I'll wake up in a hospital bed somewhere.

I know I've mentioned this before. But it's just not reality. He's kicking and moving, and it's not sinking in that he won't be with us for long.

Zoloft still working, though. Only broke down once this week - after someone mentioned that his Halloween costume could be super cute.

Henry probably won't see Halloween. He probably won't see the Fourth of July.

I don't know if I want him to hang on that long. I don't know if I want him to suffer for my own selfish love.

That's about all, I guess.