A Whale's Tale, in three vignettes

This is the story of the little whale who is our nursery inspiration.

Blueberry's Whale, December 2011

We'd been ducking into stores in the tiny island town all day, giggling delightedly over adorable stuffed animals, gently rubbing soft receiving blankets between our fingers, debating the merits of a "themed" nursery. However, we'd held off from making any purchases--until we stepped into our final stop of the day, a little deli where we were picking up supplies for dinner that night. As I checked the case for the salads my mum had requested, Jeff found his way to the back of the tiny shop. By the time I found him, he was standing quietly, holding a little painted square in his hands. The sweet little whale on the front seemed to be grinning at us, his spout exuberantly overflowing against the bright blue background. Jeff didn't even have to ask--the agreement was immediate. This would be Blueberry's whale, the first item we'd purchase for the tiny 8-week baby growing inside me. With smiles on our faces and hands clasped, we exited the store, excitedly talking about an underwater themed nursery where the tiny whale would take center stage. We never could have imagined that, in three short weeks, we'd be packing up the painting that now only brought us heartache, knowing Blueberry's nursery would never be.

Beanster's Whale, November 2012

Jeff sat on the top step of the stairs to our upper level. I'm not certain why he was there--perhaps he was engaging Ozzy in a quick wrestling match, or maybe he had just decided to pause during a busy day. When I came out of the third bedroom, a small canvas square in my hand, he didn't really notice--until I wiggled my way onto his lap. Pulling out the tiny whale, I placed it in his hands. "Look, honey," I said, "Blueberry is going to watch over Beanster." Tears threatened to overflow my eyes as my voice cracked. "This one is going to stick, and he's going to know all about his big sibling, watching over him from heaven." Jeff nodded mutely, then wrapped his arms tightly around me. We just knew this time was it, because it had to be. Because our hearts couldn't handle more heartache. Because it was unfathomable to think that, once again, in just a few short days, we'd be stowing our little whale in the back of the closet, all hope ripped away.

Button's Whale, October 2013

Jeff had asked me to approve of the design he'd sketched out on the wall for a shelf in Button's room, one he'd designed out of wood of various lengths and thicknesses. It will eventually hold some of her toys, perhaps a small book or two, even a stuffed animal perched at the top. When I opened the door to the nursery, though, the first thing I noticed wasn't the pencil marks on the wall--it was the sketch right at eye level. In the midst of the shelf, taking center stage, Jeff had drawn a rendition of our tiny whale. It's the first thing you'll see upon walking into Button's nursery, and it will let us tell her the story of her whole family, not just the ones who we cradle on this earth, but also the ones who we only hold in our hearts. 

"Yes," I told Jeff with confidence. "Yes, it's the perfect place for B's whale."