One night last week, laying and unsleeping, I thought I should get out of bed and knit. Some people would be knitting. Knitting would be the perfect activity for insomniac pregnant woman on the nightmorning before she hopes to hear the heartbeat growing inside her.
Except that, once the doctor, under ultrasonic guidance, establishes the portal to the placenta and for for the second time, you see the what seems like a foot long needle (maybe it is?) enter, exit, enter and at last finally exit with the sacred liquid meant to be shared by mother and baby interrupted by science and squirted into second tube and sent to lab again, there’s no knitting.
The next day, we heard the heartbeat of our third child.
I guess that right now, this is very much about our second child. About her brief presence in our lives and the loss we couldn't have planned to expect.