Toward the end of the day I drove to Target for diaper cream. But I still don’t know the city well, and this Target turned out to be a small one with less stuff than most, for people who live near the college. 

A very pregnant young woman squinted at the back of a nasal aspirator box before the slapdash children's medicine endcap. She quietly agreed when I whispered shit. Felt terrible for her, knew in my bones we'd both Googled "nearest Target" and raced to the first result. 

Steam seemed to be coming from her...fingernails?...and I tried to think of something reassuring to say. She asked how mine was. Really regretted having to explain my dad has a pressure sore we’re trying to turn around. 

She went back to the box. I couldn't blame her. Seeing no Butt Paste I took Desitin. Said I hoped her kiddo would start to feel better soon. And left for the registers. 

Driving home into a bit of weak setting sun, young couples appeared here and there on the sidewalks, bundled, arm in arm, brows-first into the cold under darkening trees. As the neighborhood receded I sensed some tender voice at my shoulder. 

because you haven't had a living child, 

don’t dismiss continuing the species 

you don’t know 

you don’t know 

you don’t know