I can't describe it well enough, the missing.

Some days it's like a hit to your funny bone, all pins and needles like, with a sharp hurt that you can't touch to soothe.

Some days it's like the moment you know you are going to be sick. That primal moment when your body is in control and you have no choice but to steady yourself at a bowl and let your body purge.

A lot more days are like the latter.

Like when the boy at show and tell presented the tiniest diaper, belonging to his newest sister, born too early, but still alive. The copper taste hits my tongue and I think of how my baby should be this size. The bile rises as Solo turns to find my eyes as it dawns on him that he should be having a baby sister soon. I need a bowl as I watch the sadness travel across his face.