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Gardening with Evelyn

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Author's note: My inspiration was mainly a portrait of a woman staring at her daughter in her bassinet. The...  Show full author's note »
Author's note: My inspiration was mainly a portrait of a woman staring at her daughter in her bassinet. The woman did not look happy so I wanted to incorporate her sadness into a monologue, which later developed into my story.  « Hide author's note
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Elizabeth's Diary

December 23, 1884-
Snow is steadily falling down, each single piece glistening in the sun that is trying to peek through the clouds. It is mid-December, right before Christmas time. Everyone is rushing around buying gifts, cutting down Christmas trees, and decorating their homes inside and out. This is the time of year my husband continuously works to try and get as much money as he could to get gifts for our son, Benjamin. He has blond hair and brown eyes. I am always home taking care of him, following his every move like a hawk. He is a little troublemaker. He always runs around, breaking things, and tracking mud in from outside. I am always on top of things, the cooking, cleaning, and most of all, watching my son. But those days were getting long, I can’t go out this winter; I am pregnant carrying my daughter. I am due any day, so I am staying downstairs next to the phone. My husband and I still cannot seem to come to a conclusion for a name. I like Charlotte, and he likes Annalise. Both names are very beautiful but I do hope he chooses Charlotte; it would make me so happy. I don’t see why he cannot just let me name her Charlotte. He picked that other name randomly; this one has meaning to me. I guess the bickering will continue.
December 24, 1884-
My water broke; it is the day before Christmas. It was still snowing; coming down even more than usual. But when it comes to New York weather, you always expect the worse. I packed all the items I needed, and sat patiently at the front door waiting for my husband to return. He is excited, I know it. The front door burst open and my husband flew in, energetically, and with the biggest smile on his face. I smiled back then put out my hand for him to grab it. I’m in for a long day, if giving birth to my daughter is anything like when I had my son, this will be a long restless night.
December 25, 1884-
It is mid-night, the snow has finally stopped. I’m so tired, and my husband is just dying of anticipation. I have cold sweats and the pain is unbearable; at least my husband is a gentleman and towels my head dry. When we got married, we wanted to have a family. My husband wanted his name to continue with a boy, as well as his business. He also wanted a daughter, so he could spoil her with anything she wanted, just like a good daughter should be. It really pays that my husband grew up wealthy and continues to be.
She was born, at 12:34 in the morning. It is officially Christmas, and my daughter is my favorite gift yet. We named her Charlotte, after my great-grandmother. You can say I got my way with the name choice. Anyway, my great-grandmother was beautiful woman, with brown hair, brown eyes, and a perfect figure. I hope my daughter will be lucky to look like her, but even though I secretly hope she looks like me. She’s beautiful, just like all the women in the family; she has brown hair, and brown eyes, and the cutest button nose. All my family members came in and admired their niece and grandchild. My husband left the room momentarily to go get our son, whom in all the commotion still has never seen his sister. When they both came back in they were all smiles. My husband is happy because he has a beautiful new daughter and my son because he is a new brother. I remember so fondly of that night; it was when Benjamin said he will be the best big brother he can be, it truly touched my heart.
September 10, 1885-
I have never felt such love in my entire life. My son and I have such a close relationship but he’s just like his father, always busy and playing outside. But my daughter, we have such a special connection, one that’s different than the one I have with her brother, and the one I have with her father. The way she looks at me makes my heart melt. Her eyes are always filled with love, and happiness. I would do anything for her, I swear on that. I think I hear her waking up now. Till next time.
December 25, 1886-
It is my daughter’s second birthday; I planned the most amazing birthday she can ever have. She wore a pink dress I had sewn together, and her hair was curly and fastened into pink bows. The dress was a soft pink with little buttons down the back, and two small bows on the pockets. This dress was special for my special little girl. I feel like I never left the kitchen today; I am continuously cooking for my daughter’s party. I made a great deal of foods, chickens, pastries, and small side dishes for the main course. Everyone says I am a great cook. I put effort and love into everything I make, which makes it that much better. My mother always said “if you rush, it will taste that way, so time your time and love will make its way in.” While I was cooking my husband is decorating the house, it sounds like such and unmanly job, but he does anything for his little girl. He hung streamers everywhere; it was an assortment of pink and yellow. Even got creative and twisted them a bit. When the guests arrived they had a whole bunch of gifts, hopefully they were toys. My daughter has so many toys already, but when you’re a kid you can never have enough. She loves dolls, while I do my chores she plays mommy as well, it is the cutest thing. Charlotte is sitting in her chair at the dinner table, and then I turned the lights out. I walked in soon after with a cake, and candles lit. I placed it gently I front of my little girl. The cake was divine, white frosting with so many small pink and yellow flowers, and even her name. I told her to blow the candles out, so she did; with my help of course. That day I wrote about everything that happened, and I have been writing since they day my precious gift was born. I started a journal for her so she could continue it when she was old enough to write herself.
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