You know me.

I sit quietly next you. You don’t know me well. You don’t know my pain, my scars, what happened to me last year, last month, last week. Know that. Know that you don’t know. Don’t judge me as my son tantrums and refuses to go into a class. Part of me is screaming that I just had a D&C yesterday….you don’t know. You see me at the OB’s office. My husband is with me, that’s usually a good thing. We see a heartbeat. You don’t know that we just drove back from my husband’s father’s funeral. You don’t know that in 2 weeks, there won’t be a heartbeat. I don’t know it yet either. Another D&C. More classes. When you call me to tell me my son hurt another child at school, again, you don’t know that I’m about to find out there isn’t a heartbeat anymore. There are many scars on my heart. I now assume there could be on yours. I don’t judge you. I don’t know what you know. I don’t know what you’ve been through, or what you will go through.