I knew she was a girl before we even did the gender ultrasound.
I knew she was a girl before we went to the doctor the first time. My little girl.
I knew she was a girl when the doctor told me I was miscarrying. All my hopes and dreams for a future princess (and she-warrior) were breaking.
"The baby is sick," we told her older brother, who probably didn't understand much of it at that point. I couldn't bear to say, "The baby is going to die."
But she was supposed to be here, my little girl, and despite what should have happened, we somehow got her here safe.
Now she prances around the house in princess dresses, vanquishing bad guys and bossing her brothers around. Perhaps the peace I had to find in the month we thought we were going to lose her has carried over because she is often my source of joy and happiness, just by her smile and love of life.
My Baby Girl. My Sunshine. My Lizard.
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