Photo: I’m pretty sure this is Lily’s “get in my belly” face. I would know– mine is oddly similar.
Two years ago today, after a “routine” appointment with my midwife that turned out to be anything but, Dmitri and I celebrated our daughter’s imminent arrival with a pre-induction last supper: pulled pork burritos from Moe’s, followed by a quick trip to Bruster’s for ice cream. And this evening, because my daughter is somehow old enough to request, loudly, a “qeusadida” and a “special kid’s cone,” our dinner (and dessert!) destinations were fitting and familiar.
It was a good day. A great day, really, even though I did do a fair amount of shower-sobbing this morning, and in spite of the fact that I felt a little sniffly watching Dmitri show her how to blow the fluff off of a dandelion*. I guess I’m just so overwhelmed by the knowledge that this– all of this–could have worked out so differently but didn’t, and so tonight I got to watch my beautiful and funny and kind daughter eat a freaking pink ice cream cone with sprinkles. Truly amazing.
Tomorrow, there will be a birthday cake and a trip to the zoo and a brand new easel, and I’m betting that she’ll just about lose her mind when she sees the giant Elmo balloon that Dmitri tied to her doorknob. But the real gift– the proof-in-a-purple-dress that some benevolent force is at work out there in the Universe, even if I can’t even begin to understand it– is, and will always be, all mine.
Happy birthday, sweet girl.
*She refers to lions as “roars,” and, by logical two-year-old extension, calls dandelions “dande-roars.” It totally kills me.