A Quiet Loss
Hazel has grown so much in the past seven months. She is officially 2.5 and her name is Hazel Annabelle—which is what she will usually say when you ask how old she is. Sometimes she will blurt out that she is three, just like her cousin Ava. Soon little sweet pea, soon you will be three. This is such a sweet and innocent age. I wish that it could last forever. We have so much fun. But there is another part of me that wishes that our January had turned out differently. We should have been doing the final touches on the nursery. Raspberry wall color for Hazel’s side, sky blue for Owen’s. Hazel would have been running around the house pretending to be Curious George and Ernie—all the while showing Oscar the Penguin (who lives in a mailbox) all the new things in their room. There should be a crib in the corner, across from Hazel’s big girl bed. But there isn’t. That dream was shattered on April 27, 2017—when I woke up bleeding. The nausea, weight gain and three positive pregnancy te