Thursday, March 20, 2008

Sweet flower, I love*

Violet loves her pink striped tights. She wears them with her big snow boots. And usually a well-worn t-shirt.

That is the clearest picture I can paint of my daughter.

She is a princess who insists on having her toenails painted when I am doing mine. She plays with barrettes and tries to make my hair pretty. She loves a pretty dress and a flouncy skirt, and insists on choosing her own clothes. Hairstyles don’t last very long with her, because she spends so much time reaching up to feel how pretty she is.

But she jumps from the furniture. She wrestles with her father. She loves nothing more than spinning in the desk chair or being thrown in the air. She can throw a ball farther than you would think, with a shout of “Datch!” She has a toy truck she loves to ram into the entertainment stand, and headbangs to her father’s music.

She carries around a doll while she plays on her “electric guitar”. She loves to help her father do the dishes and cook; she chases the cat around the house and tackles him with a hug.

She can smack fairly hard, and bites like a champ. But her kisses are the sweetest thing you can imagine, and her hugs could initiate world peace.

She has these enormous violet-blue eyes, and a pointy little chin; a dimple high on her left cheekbone, and curling dark blonde hair. Strangers cannot resist saying hi to her, smiling at her, and she blows them a kiss and makes their day.

She says, “I love you, Mama,” and always thanks you. She knows you have to say please to get something, and is obsessed with her toothbrush. She roars like a lion, and is the cutest baby elephant you have ever seen. She cannot pass up a dog, no matter the size, and is very good about letting us ask the owner if she can pet it. She runs around like a madman and sleeps with a purple Care Bear.

My daughter is a vision of opposites. She is named for not only two strong and brave women, but also a flower that is both beautiful and hardy. She is the adventurer, the charmer, the puppy, and the princess all rolled into one gorgeous package. I am so lucky to be her mother.

*From "The Yellow Violet" by William Cullen Bryant.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

Doing OK.

Writing about my miscarriage is not something I am sure about yet. First of all, there are so many wonderful people I know in the blogiverse who are either pregnant or trying, and the last thing I would want to so is scare them, to discourage them for the most beautiful thing that could ever happen to them. Second, I am not really sure how to express what I am feeling correctly.

Know that I am not angry. Know that I am quite sad, because this was a child I lost. I lost my son. I may not have had much time to bond with him, but he was mine, and I love him. But also know that I have a beautiful daughter that gives me a giant hug when things are really bad. Like just now, when she climbed over my desk chair to get to me.

Maybe someday I will write about it. Maybe someday it will make sense. But for now, this is what I focus on.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008


We have had the name Max picked out for our son since I was pregnant with Violet. When I found out that both Christina Aguilera and Jennifer Lopez named their sons Max, though, I was having second thoughts. We debated names from Gunner to Wyatt to Dean, all with keeping Max at the forefront of our minds.

Saturday night, I had a dream. I saw my son, and he looked at me. "Don't worry, Ma," he said. "And my name is Max."

And so his name is Max.

I had a miscarriage Tuesday morning.

Max is in your hands now, God. Take care of him for me.

Monday, March 10, 2008

Streaks of Gray and a Hint of Purple

That is what the sky outside my office window looks like. Daylight savings time is excruciatingly inconvenient, but I do get to see the sun rise slowly.

Apparently, the gall bladder removal they did 10 years ago to fix my stomach problems then is what is causing them now. My fluids don't know where to go, so they are going back into my stomach. Luckily, I have a smart doctor who gave me pills to tell them where to go. And more to act as bouncers to the red-rope event that is my stomach lining. I will have to be on them for the rest of my life, but there will have to be no surgery, no invasive treatments. I feel much better already.

And the weekend after my last test was run, the last one that I had to be anesthetized for, I got all knocked up.

I am due November 7. (or maybe 8...stupid conflicting internets.)

I suppose God does know what he is doing after all.