As you know, Val had a tiny heart murmur when she was born. The doctors
said she'd outgrow it in a year or so. After a year, the pediatric
cardiologist, a doctor who I would've preferred to go my Entire Life
without meeting, went from talking about how it would close to ways we'd
need to deal with it.

I blamed myself the whole time. I still blame myself, even though
there's no real evidence that I should.

So every day for the first 18 months of Val's life, I put my hand over
her wee heart and prayed for it to close. Even after that heartbreaking
12 month appointment where we learned that it was still open, I kept it
up.

And like all things Val does, don't you know that at 18 months, 6 full
months past the scheduled/hoped for/prayed for date, that thing finally
closed.

I have never been so grateful in my life. Except for maybe the day Val
was finally born healthy after all that crazy non-effective, very
painful labor. But I didn't exactly have a clear head right then,
clouded as I was by exhaustion and drugs.

So now, we are lucky enough to have George happily gestating, no doubt
preparing to be a punkass just like his or her big sister.

And I'm doing all I can not to worry (obsessively, anyway) if there's a
heart murmur growing in there too. Apparently it's one of those things
you can't see on ultrasound, we just have to wait until George emerges
from the womb.

Great. Because I'm sooo good at waiting.

PS I miss hockey.