Yesterday the LP had to go to the office and work. The Miracle Toddler and I dropped him off and – many hours later – picked him up.
Earlier in the day I had been thinking about a restaurant that the LP and I frequented when I was pregnant with the MT. The restaurant is iconic, a local landmark that is family-owned and has been through four generations (3 of which you will still find working there). We had already made plans for what we would cook last night but when the LP got in my vehicle at the end of the day he said “guess where I have been thinking about us going for dinner tonight”.
I failed the first three guesses. Then he gave me a hint. I exclaimed how serendipitous that was as I had been thinking of the same place earlier in the day and reminiscing about going there while carrying the MT. Off we went.
It was over dinner that something even more surprising happened. The magnitude of it did not fully sink in until this morning. Now, I cannot believe it even happened. The LP let his guard down and started suggesting baby names for Azulito. At first, I was uncomfortable and did not want to play that game. The flood of negative thoughts and fear rushed in.
It is too early. We could jinx this. We never did this seriously until the third trimester with the MT. This will only make it hurt more later if things go sideways.
The LP persisted and eventually I could not resist. Perhaps it was his effort to suggest the most boring names on the planet that he knew I would not like. Perhaps it was the innocence he conveyed – something that has been sorely absent from our lives and any discussions about babies and making them for a very long time – but at some point I began playing along. I admitted my favourite girl name and said “what if it’s a boy?” (The LP believes this baby is a girl. Of course he steadfastly believed the MT was a girl, too.)
Looking back on that conversation, I recognize it for the gift it was. Thank you, LP. Thank you for having hope. Thank you for believing that this may work out enough to let your heart head down the name game path. Thank you for forgetting to worry and self-censor.
And thank you, Azulito (or Azulita) for giving us this opportunity to dream of one more chance. Thank you for your beating heart. Thank you for surviving the treachery of my immune system (thank you, immune system, for playing nice on all of those drugs I am feeding you). Thank you for sticking with me all this time. Thank you for being with me now.
Come home this time, little blue. Please. We love you so.