I can’t do anything with Moose without thinking, “I’ll never do this with Avalon”.
I’ll never give her a bath and teach her how to splash. I’ll never admire her long eyelashes, or her little toes, or praise the way she stands up like a big girl or starts to crawl. I’ll never feel her body get heavy with sleep as I rock her before bed. I’ll never be wakened in the night by her cries. I’ll never make a bottle for her, and think about how beautiful she is as I watch her eat. I’ll never read her a little book, or kiss her chubby cheeks, or find out which kind of baby toys she likes best.
The “nevers” are never-ending. My Avalon will never be a baby like Moose is a baby, like everyone else’s baby is a baby. We will never have memories together. I will always feel the shadow of those absent times haunting my whole life.