Crying over novelty socks

Holey Socks Batman.

Yesterday morning Mr Duncan was wittering on to me about a pair of his socks.

Freshly laundered, he went to put them on and found them full of holes.  This was no big surprise to me.  I don't know how he goes through socks as fast as he does, but he is regularly throwing out socks with holes in the toes and heels so I wasn't paying close attention to his complaint, especially once he started going on about moths and mothballs.  We have not developed a moth infestation in the three days since he last wore those socks.  I'm not saying that something didn't try to eat them while they were drying on the washing line though... we are not yet closely acquainted with all of Australia's creepy crawlies.

When I was first pregnant with Poppy I noticed a pair of Homer Simpson novelty socks at the pound shop in the days coming up to Fathers Day.  Mr Duncan is a Simpsons fan and we enjoy a couple of in-jokes based on Homer Simpson statements.  So I purchased the socks and gave them to Mr Duncan with a Homer Simpson Fathers Day card, from me and Poppy, assuring him what a great Dad he'd be.  We lost Poppy less than two weeks later.

Time has passed and old wounds, if not exactly healed, are less immediately painful.  Poppy's due date and first birthday have come and gone and in that time we conceived and lost Pipkin and now are hoping for Pickle to arrive safely in June.  While I frequently think of both Poppy and Pipkin, what they might have been like if they had been born, how our lives would be different...  its like a nostalgic feeling for what might have been and it doesn't trigger tears in the way it did in the past.

Later in the day I noticed Mr Duncan's Homer Simpson socks in the wastepaper basket by his desk and burst into a fit of hysterical crying - complete with red face, heaving chest and breathless gasping.

Grief is a funny thing.  Just when you think it is subsiding it rushes in unexpectedly and sweeps you off your feet.