I love you, but you're creeping me out. But I love you. But you're creeping me out.

I have felt fiercely and intensely attached to Margot lately.

It's really no wonder why, I know - I'm living through our days mourning the loss of her first sibling - and truly, overall, I'm okay. I really am okay. But I can't say it comes as a surprise that my heart is glomming on to this girl of mine at an exponential rate while I grieve. 

I hadn't even really noticed until just recently, when I realized how frequently I flip through photos of her on my phone when I'm not around her. Whether I'm away from her at work, or whether I'm one floor beneath her while she's down for her afternoon nap, or whether I've put her to bed only a short time prior at the end of the day - it's only moments before I'm picking up my phone and looking at all the pictures I've taken of her in the recent past. 

I ache with missing her while she's sleeping. While she's awake, we're usually attached to one another; either I'm holding her, or she's sitting on my lap, or nuzzling in the crook of my neck, or laughing and smiling her biggest smiles while my stomach hurts from laughing so hard. We're having amazing days together. I don't know whether to attribute these moments to a higher level of patience and love for her, or to some heightened sense of awareness that she's picked up in light of my grief. But whatever the reason, she is without a doubt pouring excess amounts of light into my life. 

I took this picture of her this morning, while she was watching Daryl drive off to work, and waving goodbye to him, and I haven't been able to stop looking at it all day. I posted it on Facebook and on Instagram and I wish I had it posted on the inside of my eyelids so that I could stare at it incessantly. She's beautiful and charming and magic and I can't stop wondering how on earth I got this tiny human - how I got so lucky so as to have her to call my own - because she's just unspeakably amazing. I told her today that she's brought me to joy I didn't even know existed before I had her. 

Something weird happened today, though. I almost don't want to write about it because it's surely going to make one of us sound like a looney tune; but at the risk of that, I'm regaling you with a story about the creepiest thing that happened to me all day. I have a serious love for creepy, but this was a little over the line. 

"Baby gone. Baby. Baby. Baby gone. Baby gone." 

I wish you all knew how well Margot speaks - because this story could easily be discredited on the assumption that she's just a tiny girl, with a limited vocabulary, and a garbled one at that; but for those of you who can attest, please stand with me here when I say that Margot has a truly exceptional talent with speech. If there's a word that you can say, she can say it. She started talking at 9 months old; and now, at almost 20 months, she's pretty easy to understand. So as I tell you this story, please take my word when I say there's no doubt as to whether I was misconstruing her words. She speaks clear as a bell. 

"Baby gone." 

We were running errands today, driving from Costco to the co-op in our neighborhood, and she was blabbering on in the backseat, as toddlers are wont to do, and I was paying her almost no attention, as mothers are [ashamedly] occasionally wont to do. I eventually started to pay her some mind, though, because, well, that kind of just naturally happens when a tiny little voice is repeating the same thing over and over three feet behind your head. So I asked her, "What, Margot? Baby gone?"

"Yes. Baby. Baby, mama. Baby gone." 

Thinking nothing of it, I said, "Huh..? Baby? What baby?" 

"Baby. Baby gone." 

"The baby is gone? Where did the baby go?" Okay...I'd indulge her. I had no idea where this was going.

"Baby sick. Tired. Baby gone. Tired." 

"Gone?" This was starting to get weird.

"Yes. Baby tired. Sick. Baby gone." She continued. 

It got weird. I got creeped. I can't stress this enough: neither Daryl nor I have ever - EVER - talked to her about this loss. About this pregnancy, about a sibling, about miscarriage. She's also the youngest in the pack when it comes to our friend group; she doesn't have babies in her life. Now I'm not suggesting she's telepathic, or otherwise intuitive on some otherworldly level, but can I get an amen when I say that this creeped the crap out of me? No..? K maybe it's just me. But for the life of me I can't figure out what she was talking about. And it didn't end there. I decided to indulge her further.

"Margot, what baby? Was the baby a boy or a girl?" 

"Girl." 

"Pardon?"

"Girl." 

Okay... whatever. I have no idea who she's talking about. She goes on for another minute or two, talking about this baby who was sick, and tired, and is now gone. I was still driving, still listening to the radio, but with some serious wheels grinding in the back of my head. Then, about five minutes later, after some silence, she says, "Baby come." And again. She's stuck on repeat.

"Baby come? Huh?" I said. What does that even mean? Does she even know the word "come"? Probably, but I have no idea. 

"Yes. Baby come. Baby come." 

"..........Is....a baby...coming?" I ask. 

"Yes." 

Okay. I'm not going to travel down some weird road here, but I also won't ignore the niggling feeling that she could be feeling a pull toward me just as strongly as the one I'm feeling toward her. Either that or she's the creepiest human being I've ever met.