Late yesterday afternoon, Laurel became obsessed with the idea of having a picnic. Not in our backyard, but out somewhere. Admittedly, by this point in the day Jon and I were tired and less than enthusiastic. We kept trying to find ways to convince her out of the idea, but she cheerfully powered forward -- dragging the cooler out of the basement and assembling peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Before too long, I was packing salad and fruit and quack n' bites and Jon was shaking out the picnic blanket.
And it ended up being the best time. It was a gorgeous evening, a band was getting ready to play, and we set up camp and enjoyed a delicious picnic. Laurel and Jon kicked the soccer ball around and wandered off to the playground and so Laurel could try rolling down some hills. Violet looked so sweet and so very small situated on our blanket out in the big, big world.
Towards the end of the evening, as I watched Laurel and Jon laughing while running across the field towards us, I realized something. That my last visit to this park with Laurel – April 2010 – was the impetus for my “coming out” about my infertility woes. That the last time I was at this park I ached deeply in every bone of my body for Laurel to have a sister. That this month last year I learned that I was pregnant.
And so I stopped packing up the picnic. I sat and simply felt gratitude -- and a little awe -- as I watched Laurel rain kisses on Violet’s little face.