Five years without a child, my husband was detached from me. When he was quiet, I thought he was thinking about divorcing me. He would go to work and come home very late. I didn’t blame him. Instead, I asked myself, “What does he have to come home to?” I would wait by his food, warming it twice before his arrival so he would come home to a warm meal instead of a warm embrace from his kids.

Before our sixth anniversary, I got the news I’d been waiting for. I missed my period. When I had the results from the hospital and it said I was pregnant, I couldn’t even rejoice. I was too tired to jump or shout. I whispered, “What took you so long?”

I got home and told my husband about it. “How did you know?” he asked. I threw the results at him. He watched while his eyes glowed. He muttered, “Wow…” and then looked at me with the same glow in his eyes. He said, “Finally…” I responded, “Yeah, finally.”

Seven months later, our child came out prematurely. The nurses whisked him away and a few hours later, I was told he couldn’t make it. The body they brought looked different in my eyes. I told my husband, “Look at him very well; those nurses have exchanged our son…

‘ive years of marriage without a child does something to you;

F the couple, the marriage, and how you see life. You ask

yourself what you did wrong in your previous life. You look at

happy couples with their children and you yearn for what they

have. A cat cries behind your window at night and you sprinkle holy

water in your room, casting the evil in the cat’s tears from your

life. These feelings aside, the physical shape of your marriage is

never the same again.

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My husband was detached from me. When he was quiet, I thought

he was thinking about divorcing me, and he was very quiet often.

He would go to work and come home very late. I didn’t blame him.

Instead, I asked myself, “What does he have to come home to?” |

would wait by his food, warming it twice before his arrival so he

would come home to a warm meal instead of a warm embrace

from his kids.

He would come home, greet me, and go inside the bedroom,

sometimes never coming out again, leaving me and my food to look

at each other. I was bothered. I cried silently. I pitied my situation,

but I also felt sad for a husband who had told me years ago that he

loved children and would love to have many around him.

One evening, after waiting for his return all day, he came. I told him

I wanted to talk to him. “Do you still want this marriage?” | asked.

He didn’t answer, but his eyes wondered why I was asking that

question. “Because you’ve been very distant,” I continued. “Even

when we are together, we both still appear lonely.”

“Oh, I didn’t notice that. I will try to do better,” he said while walking

to the bedroom. I thought he would come back and start doing

better, but he didn’t. He slept without bathing or eating the food I’d

warmed twice before his arrival. That night I prayed and asked God

for a change, a miracle, or anything that would restore happiness

into our marriage.

Before our sixth anniversary, I got the news I’d been waiting for. I

missed my period. When I had the results from the hospital and it

said I was pregnant, I couldn’t even rejoice. I was too tired to jump

or shout. I whispered, “What took you so long?”

I got home and told my husband about it. “How did you know?” he

asked. I threw the results at him. He watched while his eyes

glowed. He muttered, “Wow…” and then looked at me with the same

glow in his eyes. He said, “Finally…” I responded, “Yeah, finally.”

We talked all that day long and continued in bed while sleeping. We

had something to talk about. We had a dream come true,

something both of us were invested in. We brainstormed on names

For both sexes. “Isaiah, if he’s a boy,” he said. “Nhyira if she’s a girl,”

I said.

The ultrasound said it was a boy, so we started shopping for baby

things once the sex was known. My husband teased that he had

won. It brought a lot of play between us, something we’d lacked for

years. My husband at one point apologized for all the times he was

absent in the marriage and asked me to forgive him. I assured him I

didn’t blame him. I told him I knew a time like this would come.

At six months it felt like I was in labour. I was kept at the hospital

For days on medication. When I was discharged I was told not to do

any heavy lifting or hard work, which I wasn’t doing in the first

place. I went home and did everything the doctors asked me to do,

but guess what, Isaiah couldn’t wait for nine months to be born, so

he was out two weeks short of eight months.

He was very tiny but was strong. My husband was there. He was

scared to look at him. The nurses whisked him away and a few

hours later, I was told he couldn’t make it. The body they brought

looked different in my eyes. I told my husband, “Look at him very

well; those nurses are lying. This is not Isaiah.”

I was crying, wailing, to be honest with you. I was shouting at them,

“You better go and bring my son before I make it a police case.

What are you telling me?” My husband wrapped me up and told me

to relax. By that time my mom had come and my husband’s family

were also on their way. I knew once they were around, I would get

my child back.

Later, my husband told me, “It’s Isaiah. They are not lying.”

I screamed, “How much did they pay you? How much did they buy

your conscience?” Several hands were needed to calm me down.

To date, I still believe what I saw wasn’t my son. My husband thinks

the hurt clouded everything for me. I think he didn’t feel it, so he

couldn’t have known.

I was scared I was going to lose my marriage again. Ultimately, I

was scared I was not made to have a child and so being a mother

was a lost dream for me. I went through therapy. My husband was

by my side. I went to work and came to meet him in the house. He

had made something for me. I complained of body pains and my

husband started the massage from my feet. His newness made me

think the nurses who exchanged Isaiah also exchanged my

husband.

One evening, I opened the toilet door and he was there sobbing on

the toilet seat. His face was buried in his palms and he was

sobbing deeply and painfully. I thought he didn’t feel the pain, not

knowing he was just being a man in my eyes so he could work

through his tears alone in the dark. I tried to console him but I

ended up crying more than he was. Today I pray no couple should

ever lose a child.

The change in my husband came from a place of hurt. He stayed

close to me and did lovely things for me not because he needed to,

but because he also needed a companion in grief. I was his

strength just as I saw him as my strength. We ended up having

couples therapy for months.

Just when we thought all was lost and gone, another pregnancy

announced itself again. This time it wasn’t loud and fanfare. It was

silent, like a tiptoeing child. We’d lost one before, so we treated

this with optimal care while letting go of all our dreams. We didn’t

brainstorm a name. We didn’t bother to check the sex and didn’t

bother to shop. I took my vitamins and folic acid and minded my

business.

We had a daughter. I asked my husband for a name and he said,

“Joy. Joy has come to stay.”