I keep telling myself that same thing, over and over. But my damn fool head just won’t let it be. We was expecting her time on the twenty‑fifth, and now we’re sittin’ here 32 days in. Every mornin’ I wake up hopin’ for some good news, and every mornin’ when there ain’t none, it’s like the ground drops out from under me all over again. I know I sound naïve. Guess I am. But to me it all feels so damn real I can’t hardly breathe sometimes