• June 17

    Yesterday, after a perfect nine months, labor came upon me. We rushed to our current place of the hospital after leaving little Thomas at my mother and father's home. As the doctors assured me, it was as quick and as easy as was possible for child birth. Now, I am resting in the clinic's bed, with my dear husband John sleeping in the chair to my right, and my new baby girl in her own hospital bed to the left of me. As I look at her, my second-born baby, she looks perfect--perfect and normal. But what I am about to write in my dear diary is going to make anyone else who is reading my journal in weeks, months, or years to come think I am absolutely and completely insane (even I am having immense difficulties convincing myself that I'm sane in the slightest). When I held my daughter for the first time after her birth, I could swear my own life on the fact that when she looked at me, I saw wisdom beyond even my many years in bright violet eyes. She looked around at the room with contentment and the thoughts, "Yes, this will do well," showed on her face. She then blinked, and her eyes were back to pale blue and her face was back to the complete unknowing and innocence of a newborn. But of course I was just imagining things...


    We named her Elizabeth Tarah Brown.