On knowing nothing is certain

Being parents, you always fear the worst. When my elder daughter was born, she was momentarily deprived of oxygen. In the thirty seconds it took to turn her from limp and lifeless to screaming and red-faced, many images popped into my mind. Not being able to crawl, walk, talk. Not making it to the toddler age. Even when she got walking and talking, and her elder brother was learning to read and write, we imagined disasters- a plane crash, leaving them alone for two seconds in the bath and a drowning. Choking on their baby mash. Michael and I have always been protective parents. Part of that has been our refusal to post our children's pictures on the internet. Michael wanted to abstain from posting names, but loosened up a little when Declan and Carmen (the unfortunate D&C we used to refer to them as) were not kidnapped as we walked through the Tokyo streets.
Conor's birth was smooth, and the knowing that our children were healthy and happy led Michael and I to trying straight away for our fourth. Michael's mother, who is very sick, gave us her blessing to see her last grandchild.
We had no reason to suspect that this pregnancy was anything but normal. Conor was still breastfeeding until recently. I was still functioning. Our scans had revealed two strong heartbeats. I knew I had been stressed with the Tokyo-LA LA-Brussels move, but things were finally calm. We have a house. Declan and Carmen have school. We have our wonderful au pair, who makes our life easier. Then, unexpectedly, I am lying in a hospital bed and my youngest son is gone.

We are mourning for Emmanuel Frédéric, who left us late morning on the 12th July.

My mother, Michael's mother and father, and my newly pregnant younger sister arrived yesterday. Their presence has greatly helped. My mother lay at my bedside, washing my face, saying these things happen. My sister, torn between her desire to visit Brussels and try out her 6th grade French, and her sisterly desire to stay by my bedside with glasses of water, hugged me and offered her love and support. Michael, still shocked, has taken 2 weeks off work. His parents are taking our eldest two children to Paris for a week. I never thought I would agree to letting my children leave, but realizing that nothing is certain, nothing can be controlled, let me agree. We would trust Michael's parents with our lives. They leave tomorrow.

Michael and I will give as much love and attention as we can to our younger son over the next few days. I am on bedrest until my next scan to take things easy.

We are almost certain we will call her Kathleen, or a variant of. This morning in bed, Michael suggested Cathaline, Katherine, and even Kathylynne to make me giggle. Our little Katie. I sit there, waiting for her to kick. Waiting for her to move and therefore move on with life without her brother.

I am grateful to you all- for all your emails and messages and love. I am blessed.