A thought...

There's a young woman named Micah who lives two stories below me in my apartment building. At last update, she's two months from giving birth to her first child. Our relationship has always been casual, if not a little flirty at times, and she had twice given her number to me. I've never called her. I've known about her pregnancy for seven months, and have never gone down to check on her well-being, to provide a temporary distraction from her anxieties and preoccupations. I have wondered aloud about my concerns for a screaming infant in our mostly childless apartments. I wonder, too, what that says about me?