There I go with dates again.
It was 10 weeks ago I went into the hospital to deliver the boys. We left here at the crack of dawn, but I didn't deliver until just before and just after midnight. Last of the placenta was dragged out of me around 4am, I think. The longest, worst 24 hours of my life.
I realized last week that I passed the dates (the 3rd & 4th) of the month they were born and died, but I always remember the weeks. Every Thursday/Thursday night I think back. Maybe I'm still in the habit from pregnancy, when I counted the weeks.
It occurs to me that my sister is 10 weeks (and a few days) along now. Her cycle started just before ours ended. I don't know what to think about that. Or perhaps there is nothing to think. It is what it is.