…She would be sticky stinky campfire smells.
…She would need a bath. Now.
…She wouldn’t want to go to bed. Ever.
…She would test her Mommy’s patience daily.
…She would shout “No, I love YOU” and laugh from her belly.
…She would be soft and sweet and droopy eyelids.
…She would be told every day how much she is loved.
But my three-year-old daughter only lived three days, and I have missed out on every day with her since.
It has been three years since Hudson died, and today I am melancholy for all the things we are missing.
We won’t get to teach our three-year-old daughter her A, B, Cs or her 1, 2, 3s. We won’t get to teach her right from wrong, left from right, her colors or her shapes, the names of her dogs or the names of her siblings. We can only wish for these things now, and cherish every second we have with her baby brother.
Because it’s all we get, I’ll live with it, and I’ll be thankful for it. But every once in a while, and especially on the 14th of July, all I wish for is a world where things went differently.
I wish I had a three-year-old today.