Strawbaby sat patiently next to me waiting her turn. She had chosen a blue, purple, and silver sparkle polish so she could have Elsa nails. When the nail technician sat down on the other side of the table Strawbaby smiled sweetly.

“What is your name?” the technician asked.

“I’m this many.” Strawbaby answered holding up five fingers before remembering to put her thumb down.

“She wants to know your name, baby. It’s her birthday and she’s very excited.” I explained.

“Oh, well happy birthday!” The technician replied and a chorus of happy birthdays echoed from the other women in the salon.

“Thank you.” Strawbaby said beaming.

I had dreamed of this moment ever since I found out I was pregnant with a little girl. In Chicago, I would bring Adelaide with me to the nail salon around the corner from our apartment. She would sit quietly in her stroller while the workers doted on her. As time went on and she got sicker, she began reacting to all the smells in the salon: her cheeks would flush and her breathing labored. So, I stopped bringing her with me. Since she passed, I’ve always been keenly aware when there are other little girls in the nail salon, remembering the times I used to bring Adelaide and longing for that shared mother/child experience. I asked Jackson if he had any interest in joining me: his response a resounding “no”.

As our nails were painted, I watched Strawbaby in wonder. Not quite able to wrap my head around this little girl being a part of our lives. I actively repressed the tears fighting to surface as I acknowledged everything that had to happen to get here: some of it beautiful and a lot of it not.

I had been anxiously anticipating Strawbaby’s fourth birthday ever since we picked her up nearly a year and a half ago. We celebrated Adelaide’s fourth birthday, but it was two weeks early because we were pretty sure she wouldn’t make it to her actual birthday on October 17th. We were right, of course, she passed away on the 12th. As of last week, Strawbaby has outlived Adelaide. I thought this milestone would stir up more emotions, but the day came and went and it barely registered.

I think in part because I no longer compare Adelaide and Strawbaby. If I’m being totally honest, it’s sort of difficult to reconcile Adelaide’s pained and struggling almost four with Strawbaby’s happy and thriving version. It still makes me sad that Adelaide didn’t get to experience life in the same way that Strawbaby, or any other healthy child, does. That is part of what was threatening to spill out of my eyes at the nail salon. But I’ve also made enough progress in my grief to allow myself to still enjoy these moments with Strawbaby. After all, I love her just as much as I do Adelaide and want all the health and happiness for her as well. Which was equally pushing my emotions along.

Not to mention that I finally got to be the mom in the salon with her cute child gleefully getting their nails painted. The duo I had watched from a distance for years with an aching heart.

These feelings: shattering grief and pure, child-like joy (and everything in between), can coexist. It is exhausting, but no longer confusing or upsetting on its own. Back at home, with our freshly manicured nails, I told Miguel I needed to lay down. Holding space for all the emotions had completely drained me and I wanted to be sure that I could be present for the rest of Strawbaby’s special day. The last few years have taught me my emotional limits and when I need to initiate a hard reset to prevent future meltdowns.

It's taken a lot of freaking work to get here. The balance between my grief and joy is still a work in progress, but I’ll celebrate my inchstones when I see them. Today that work paid off. When Jackson got home from school and before Miguel had to head to the theater we sang happy birthday, ate cake, and opened presents. AND I was able to enjoy it all without my grief or guilt taking precedent.

By all accounts it was a great day. Strawbaby agreed fighting me at bedtime because she wasn’t ready for her birthday to be over.

“I know it’s hard, but you have to go to bed.”

“Three more minutes!” Strawbaby wasn’t asking…

“You said that fifteen minutes ago.” Negotiating with young children who have no concept of time is never a good idea.

“THREE. MORE. MINUTES!” She screamed. The excitement of the day was drawing us mightily close to tantrum territory.

“Tell you what, if you go to bed now – and stay in bed – then you can have cake for breakfast.” Ok, maybe not one of my finest parenting moments, but effective.

“…Ok.” Strawbaby relented. Her sparkly fingernails finding their way into my hand as we walked upstairs.

She held me to it too.

Image description: Kelly wearing a dusty pink coat and smiling sitting next to Strawbaby in a blue floral dress drying their nails under a nail dryer.