There was so much celebration in Max’s heart, finally becoming a big brother. The video we have of him finding out is so pure and innocent with his burst of giggles. He always sang her, “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” and loved when we were snuggled in his bed after stories and he could feel Eva kicking his back from my belly. Oh those sweet memories we share.
Behind his excitement always lingered the questions, “Will she live? Will she come home?” Max isn’t naive, he knew about the miscarriage. I thought we were in the clear by our 20 week anatomy scan. Doesn’t everyone? Joe had just started a new job, and wanted to save all his leave for Eva’s arrival. So Max and I reveled in the idea that just him and I got to peak at our amazing girl.
The appointment lasted a long time, and he started to get bored. “You’ll need to get a higher resolution ultrasound because she’s moving too much, we can’t get good images of her brain.” I had no clue. NO CLUE. She was just moving too much.
June 30, 2017. The innocence in this picture mirrors the last shred of innocence I carried with me as I took this shot. Soon my midwife would explain the results, that Eva was measuring small, extra fluid, club foot and a small chin—that’s one my midwife hadn’t seen before.
Hope. I kept hope. That’s all I knew how to do. It’s so obvious to me now after what I have learned, of course it was a chromosomal abnormality.
Max now tells me he kind of likes being an only child. You get all the attention and all the stuff. I understand this, raised as an only child myself, I said the same things. It’s not what I envisioned for my him, but it is what it is. And if he’s come to that conclusion he is himself practicing acceptance, something I can learn from. My children teach me life’s greatest lessons.