I saw the Editter today at the supermarket. See, last time I had heard from her, she was happily preggers. So when I saw her coming my way, I craned my neck to peer at her tummy and jokingly told her she still just looks fat.
Now, if I'd left the house just an hour later than I actually did, I would have been home to answer the phone when she rang to tell me that she'd miscarried last night.
My embarrassment at having made such a faux pas was overshadowed by my sorrow at the news.
I'd been looking forward to telling her of all the trials and tribulations she could anticipate as a pregant woman. I'd been mentally going through Baby's newborn clothing and picking out the outfits she might like to borrow for her little one. I was going to recommend pregnancy and parenting books. And now I can't.