That best describes what's going on around here right now. For the most part, things are pretty much back to normal -- I take care of the Cheeto, the Boy goes to work, and we live our lives. We've even had some wonderful moments. We woke up yesterday to a dusting of snow on the ground -- The Cheeto's first. We dutifully bundled her up and set her loose outside, where she looked at us as if thinking "yeah, so?" and then decided to stomp around a little in the snow.
On the other hand, there are these flashes of sadness when it hits me that, for instance, I won't be feeling a baby kick me in a couple of weeks. I think I finally believe I'm not pregnant anymore, but I hadn't counted on how desperate I would be to try again, soon. If I could, I'd try now, but the doctors say I need to wait three months. And the Boy has been rendered gun-shy by this experience. He doesn't want to go through it again, and would rather wait six months or more before trying again. I understand and respect his feelings, but I can't turn off this longing.
I know it's way too soon to be making these kinds of decisions, so I am working on letting go. We'll just have to wait and see what happens.