baby number 5.

 there's old blood underneath my fingernails. 
from wiping and wiping, 
no matter how many times i scrub my hands,
the remainder of a life that once was 
is just beyond my finger tips. 
i am being emptied. 
of tissue, 
of a heart beat,
of pure DNA,
the short life of an unborn child. 
the black and white monitor 
shows an empty womb,
"it looks as though she has passed,"
the nurse says gently. 
i wipe again,
and there on the paper is remnants of 
a placenta, the shedding of 
my uterine wall,
i am now a vacant home.
my heart beats slowly and sadly, 
mourning the loss of this child that was, 
this child that would have been. 
i recall the squeals and screams of excitement 
that this baby's siblings bubbled forth 
when they found of her existence. 
my husband's face, her father, 
when he heard of the news. 
pure joy. 
this tiny baby was already loved and celebrated,
8 weeks only?
yes, but 8 weeks we were given 
and we count that a gift. 
i count that an undeserved gift, 
to carry, to hide this little one in my womb, 
to love her for the time i did. 
to carry her to completion, for the duration of 
9 months and beyond would have been a miracle, 
but it is not entitled to me. 
there are no guarantees. 
so i will celebrate and mark this small season in time. 
where i was carrying this unborn child. 
this tiny, perfectly shaped life, 
and though He gives and takes away, 
my heart will still say, 
He is good. 
rest in peace, little one. 
you are in the arms of Jesus. 
baby english, 8 weeks old.