Life companion

When Do was born, during the 25th year of my life, my closest friends whispered that Viktarytė and Tumukas had already “settled” and would stop at just one.

The little rascal was something else.

Until he was 2.5 years old, before he could express what he wanted in words, all that was left was carrying the already fairly heavy “bundle” on outstretched arms and rocking him.

When rocking was no longer needed,
I still couldn’t stand without swaying.
My body rocked on its own, as if it didn’t understand that those two years hadn’t turned into eternity.

Then the dark clouds cleared.
And between them, two little lines “shone” again in the “smeared” strip.
“Daughter!” I sweetened the thought when I did the test.
And from that day, I started dressing myself in the soft pink “V&V” business card of our little family.
Planning how I’d tie ribbons into braids and sew tiny dresses.

“Little one, I know how much you want this,” once paused my aunt, slowing my runaway “daughterly” dreams.
She had once really wanted my husband to have a sister. She followed all the “how to have a girl” advice.

And so, instead of a sister-in-law, I have a little niece.
“Strong male genes in this family,” she shook her head.

She spoke.
And I, in my convictions, KNEW I WAS HAVING A GIRL.
And if, in the 18th week of pregnancy, the doctor, after thoroughly examining the little inhabitant of my belly, had said she saw something between the legs, I would have asked her to check again.
But she didn’t!
My feeling, born the moment I saw those second lines that told me I’d have a DAUGHTER, was celebrated on the first day of her life with a headband and “bow,” and now it sits beside me with the name Patricija.

I love the men in my family.
What do I mean—I adore them!
But this little lady snuggled beside me is life’s true dessert.

“How lucky I am to have you,” I whisper, patting her fluffy hair.

“I’m luckier,” she sparkles back with her eyes.

If I had been born to a mom who didn’t like going to the spa, who didn’t enjoy massages or swimming, who didn’t have a big cosmetics drawer or all sorts of fragrant bottles—I would have been sadder.

But I got lucky—we love the same girly little things.
Meaning: I am very much her kind of “mom,”” purrs the little lady smiling beside me.

I hug her even tighter.
Though the next day, I’m already scrolling through photos of Mykolas visiting Grandma and asking my husband how Dominykas is doing.
Having a “little friend,”
with handbags, scented bottles, slow lying down with a book, and “robe-mode” therapy—
is a great joy.

Like a winning lottery ticket pulled out.
For life.

For the friends and companions that generous fate chose.

Mua,
V.