“Is this new?” my acupuncturist asked looking at my tattoo as he placed tiny needles into my foot.
“You must really like carrots,” he said with a chuckle.
“It’s for my daughter. When I was pregnant with her, we used to call her out little Karate Carrot.”
I love that my memorial is subtle, requiring a little explanation. I’m grateful that we came up with a nickname for her that stuck and is real-world enough that I get to see reminders of her from time to time.
“Why do you have a carrot necklace?” the daughter of my friend asked.
“I had a baby who died and we used to call her our Karate Carrot.”
“What’s with the carrots?” the little boy asked. We were seated around a large round table, drawing on small index cards. Taken together they would fill up a mural in a Mother’s Day remembrance activity for the babylost. He was drawing something for his little brothers, twins gone too soon. Chris and I were each drawing carrots in our own way.
“We used to call our daughter Mabel our Karate Carrot.”
“Hah! That’s funny. A carrot doing karate.”