divers

expecting

We are happy. We really are. But we would we so much more complete with a baby, with a child. We’ve been married for quite some time now and trying to receive. And now my period is late. So late, that everything points at a pregnancy, even the pregnancy test was positive.

Just a moment ago, I told Marc. Now, I see tears in his eyes, the tips of his mouth quiver and then I lie in his arms, hugging each other and crying together. For a moment, I was afraid, he wouldn’t be happy to get to know these news. But now, all these doubts are out the window and everything that counts is us. We, that are so happy to be expecting in nine months time. I am so happy that it finally worked.

We go to our first appointment. Hearing the heartbeat for the first time. It’s a strong one, the doctor tells us. We smile and watch the ultrasound, where everything there is to see is a little white bubble. But we are so delighted that there is one. One that has a heartbeat.
Two months in, we search for a weekly coursesthat will prepare us for birth. We go to our appointments at the doctor and look for activities we can participate in when the baby is born that will help to socialize our little sunshine since we don’t have much friends with toddlers. They all are a little older already. But it will be so much fun spending time with our friends while our babies play together.

In month four we meet up with our friends and tell them that we are going to have a baby. They are happy for us, congratulate us. They ask, if everything is fine. We tell them, that everything is going smoothly. I don’t have to throw up every morning anymore, I am feeling good and things between Marc and myself are better then ever.


Our love has grown since I received and I thrive on that, happy to be finally able to give us what we always wanted.
In month five, the doctor tells us that she would be able to tell us the gender of our baby if we wanted to know. We shake our heads. We don’t want to know. We will love this little sunshine either way, no matter with which gender it is going to be born. She tells us that the heartbeat sounds strong and healthy, there is no abnormality to be heard and the fetus looks strong. I tell her, that I can tell by the way it is kicking me.

The nursing room is ready, furniture built and the walls are colored. I sit here everyday for a few hours in the nursing chair and talk to my little sunshine, telling some stories and describing the room. I love these siltent hours I sit in there and do nothing else then talk to my baby. In these moments, I soak it all up as if it all could slip away.

Two days later, I feel a pang inside of me. I suppose my water broke. But it is well too soon! No, no! I shriek and call for Marc, trying to calm myself and walking slowly. „Marc!“, I cry out, watching horror slip over his face as he catches himself running and taking me in. I am sure I look horryfied. We make our way to the car and we rush to the hospital. The nurses are calm, we are thunderstorms. I am crying and I am sure, Marc is too, after the doors to the emergency room close behind me and leave him in the waiting room. Since then I am only thinking about the baby. I am in my 22th week. At this rate, a premature baby has not good chances of surviving. They deliver the baby. It’s so small. And not breathing. They try to resuscitate, but my baby doesn’t respond. It’s heart is too weak, the shock of being born just now was too big. It is a stillborn.

I am dead inside as I hold my child, hugging it close to me as I watch its face and weep. The tears are streaming down my face and drip onto the blankets they wrapped around me and my legs. I feel so cold, so drained of life. Marc comes in. The hope in his eyes is gone, instead I only see sorrow and loss. And tears. I reach out to him, take his hand in mine and hold him close, too. He settles onto the bed, taking the little bundle wrapped into white, soft sheets in my arms in. Tears fall. Sobs escape. The horror ebbs away and gives way to pain and grief. Hopelesness fills my heart. I feel so hollow and sad. I want so sleep. I want to wake up and feel my round belly, the little sunshines heart beating inside of me. I don’t want to go back to an empty house, with a finished nursing room without a baby.

But I still have Marc. I lift up my face, look at him and whisper his name. I kiss him. I can taste our tears on my lips, I feel the desperation. He doesn’t want to be alone, either.

I am afraid of going home. To be alone in this silent house. But I try to comfort myself in reassuring myself that I won’t be alone. I have Marc. We have each other. And we will pull through this together. We won’t be alone.
But my heart is broken and aches in need to see that little being grown inside of me to grow up, to build its own life. But that won't ever happen. And I am crying because of that.