I broke the rules. When you are pregnant, you are supposed to want a happy healthy baby. You’re not supposed to want a boy or girl. Just healthy. At least that is what everyone told me. With Sprout, I did just want happy and healthy. I was excited to see a little girl on the sonogram, but I would have been just as excited to see a little born.
Just a few months before Sprout turned one, my sister lost her battle with cancer. I had been there with her, at the end. Through the nights when the pain would not cease, when we gave her as much pain medication as we dared. I was there, the night she begged me to give her enough morphine to end it all. I can say, I was one of the few that were there.
Her death changed everything. I know that seems cliché, but words fail me when it comes to describing what her death did to me. It felt like a meteor had slammed into the world, and everything was in chaos. Nothing was the same.
When the grief started to subside, when I could see through the tears and think of life after… I was possessed by a single thought. We had to have another baby. And we had to have a little girl. Sprout had to have a sister.
Hubs was leaving for Afghanistan, and I could not bear the thought of another pregnancy without him. I did not want to see him miss the birth of his second child. So much time was taken from him and Sprout, I refused to take time away from him and his next baby.
The thought of the next baby carried me through that deployment. He would come home, we would be a family, and then we would expand it. The baby would be a girl. The baby had to be a girl.
At the same time, I planned for more pink blankets and socks, I wondered if I was damning myself. If by wishing for a girl, I wasn’t wishing for a healthy baby. What if the most painful lesson of my life would be to lose a little girl. To lose Sprout’s sister.
When the pregnancy tests turned positive, despite everyone and everything, I wished for a girl. I hoped for a girl. I knew if we had a boy, I would want to try again, and I doubted my body’s ability to carry a third baby. So while I said I wished for a boy, and imagined a dark-haired little boy. I wanted a girl.
You see, only a sister gets you. Only a sister understands you, as a woman, on a primal level. Only a sister is there to fight with you, make things better with you, to lean on and to be leaned on in turn. My life has been affected by my sisters. Sprout needed that.
When the tech pressed the wand into my belly, and confirmed that Pudge was indeed a girl, I was relieved. I was ecstatic. I was overjoyed. When she had Carl and Sprout leave the room, to call a doctor in, to talk about something she had seen, I lost all of that. Every good emotion I had left when the tech talked about my cervix, and funneling, and early labor. The doctor assured me everything was fine, and I would make it to my due date. But she asked me to book an appointment with my OB, after we moved and settled in, as soon as possible.
I knew then that I was at risk for losing my little girl.
We drove across the country a week later, and I drove most of those 3,000 miles with one hand pressed to my belly. She was kicking then, shoving her feet into my ribs and my bladder, and I counted everyone. I stood on the Continental Divide, some of the prettiest country I have ever seen, with my hands pressed to my belly, trying to keep Pudge in.
And a few months later, it was time. The epidural failed. Then she came so fast the nurses did not have time to set up the bed. The placenta was slow in detaching. It felt like the universe sending me a sign, do not do this again.
I knew, laying in the hospital with a duplicate of Sprout, that my time in the land of pregnancy was over. But it did not matter. She had the same measurements as her sister. The same face. A few weeks later her eyes turned brown, and her hair does not have the blonde streaks in it.
Pudge is old enough now to play with her sister. They build sandcastles together, paint together, color together, make playdo cookies and run around in the grass outside together. Sprout leads Pudge around, teaching her how to kick a ball, how to hold her baby dolls, how to sneak into my room and get into the candy I stash in my nightstand. I have found Sprout in the crib, surrounded by toys, playing as they wait for me to get them up for the day.
They fight. Already they scream at each other over toys. Or who gets to sit in my lap during the movie.
The bond is there though. They build it every day. It is my fondest hope that their bond gets them through the rough parts of life, and is there during the good.