I should be lugging your carseat in and out of the van, over your brother's seats and snack wrappers and random socks and the umbrella wedged by the door.

I should have had to change the batteries by now in your swing, the one that swayed your brothers into slumber.

I should be behind on laundry, your pink things a shocking contrast to all the blue and brown and comoflauge clothes in the pile, because we are up all night and all day and you and I are sleep deprived.

I should be almost recovered, my scar a little thicker, another ring in a tree that tells another year's story.

I should be over the PUPS rash, and losing weight, and packing up the tiny premie clothes and exchanging them for the 0-3 months.

I should be tired of the vigilance in keeping you safely out of reach from the kisses from well meaning brothers, who would wrestle their way to you, inevitably bumping you out of the sleep you resisted.

I should be wearing you in the Mobi, wrapped tight against me, keeping your heart's beat in rythm with mine. God, what I would do to have you there, on my chest, with a heartbeat.

I shouldn't be a wreck at every baby picture on facebook. I shouldn't ache for days after holding another baby. I shouldn't think about how I will search every other new sibling for traces of you.

I am weary of this grief. How did you leave such a hole when we never even held you?