Welcome to Gaia! ::

Months of effort had yielded nothing. Each visit to the clinic was more disappointing than the last, and each chipped a piece away from the supporting column of Ursah's resolve. She imagined herself sometimes as a dried up husk, a shell that held its form, but fragile and lifeless on the inside.

He was there to comfort her with each new wound. Every week brought new tears, fresh pain that made her question the desire to continue. She did not understand the gentle smiles he gave her, but took comfort in the presance of his arms, the cloth of his shirt near her cheek, wetten with her own sorrow.

Others she had met during her weekly visits had had more success. In that time, some of them had already had successful pregnancies, new children of their own. In all things, Ursah felt inadequate. She began to wonder if she was unworthy of motherhood.

Visits to the exclusive clinic were expensive. She questioned, sometimes, her masochistic journey each week, wondering if it would ever be fruitful... she actually paid for this disappointment! But many sources said that the GMFC was the best clinic in its field, and she knew that she would find the money for as long as it took. For as long as she could bear it.

Ursah sighed, and stepped up to the drugstore counter, a pregnancy test in hand. She didn't feel like waiting for the clinic to call her. Self-consciously she stuffed it in a brown paper bag, and then pushed through the shop door to make her way home.

She had come home only minutes before. A sad hello, followed by a sullen trip to the bathroom, a small, brown paper bag clutched in her hand. But then again, almost everything she did these days seemed sad. Today would be no exception.

Niku's tail drooped slightly at the prospect. Ursah had gone to the clinic again today. It would mean more disappointment for her, more grief. Every other week she filled herself with hope, and every other week she came home to the call that deflated her. "We're sorry to report that the test results have returned negative, Ursah," the receptionist would say, genuinely sympathetic at a time when sympathy meant nothing.

She had been inconsolable for days after each call. Niku's best efforts had amounted to small smiles, gentler sobs, and a temporary return to near-normality. But she had never been the same as she had been before her first series of treatments, her first visits to the clinic, and the first disappointing message. Ursah's confidence in herself was shattering, which hurt Niku more than his own feelings of inadequecy, despite the fact that both had been told that they were fully capable of conceiving. Patience was the important part, they said.

Niku closed his eyes as the phone abruptly started ringing. All patience has its ends, he thought to himself, his ears flattening briefly. He opened his eyes and turned toward the phone with the intent of answering for Ursah while she was busy. As his hand touched the receiver, though, Ursah called loudly to him from the hallway, and her rapid footsteps raced toward him. Niku pulled his hand away from the phone as she cleared the doorframe.

"Look!" she exclaimed, her expression describable only as radiant. She shot out a hand that held a small white object with a small window carved into it. Niku squinted at the thing a moment, without recognition, before his eyes focused on the small blue plus sign in the middle of the recess. His eyes shot up to meet hers and saw the tears of joy that rolled down those smiling cheeks. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, hoisting up and lightly spinning her around, holding her even tighter as he set her down. The answering machine picked up the call after the fourth ring.

"We're proud to report that your test results have returned positive, Ursah," said the receptionist cheerfully. "Congratulations to both of you. We hope to see you again soon."

Life had changed drasticly since the happy news. Everything seemed more vibrant to Ursah, the world more full of potential, more lovely. She was even looking at Niku in a different way.

Their relationship had always been a very childish one, full of a lot of play. She saw another side of him now, a very adult side, one that was caring and cautious. He did all that he could not to upset her in any way, even caving in and allowing her to choose the nursery's wallpaper herself, a sickeningly sunny yellow (much to his dismay). He catered to her every whim, and wouldn't let her do so much as lift a finger to anything that was remotely straining. Most of the time she loved being pampered, but once in a while she felt like a baby herself for her own decreasing lack of responsibility.

She was eating for two now, craving both cherry cheesecake and dill pickles, though thankfully not at the same time. With Niku's willingness to cook for her, she wondered if her growing belly was partially due to calories rather than pregnancy... she still had not felt the baby moving, though the doctors assured her that she would soon.

Things were going well. She was going to be a mother. She couldn't have been more ecstatic.

Ursah sat at the couch, various textured papers strung out all over the coffee table. She was carefully cutting the shape of a rubber duck into a sheet of thick yellow cornhusk paper, over and over. A few partially-assembled ducks lay to the side, orange beaks glued in place, whispy wings watercolored in a light wash of brown and highlighted with a brighter white.

If anyone had asked her what she was doing, she wasn't entirely certain that she could have told them anything apart from making ducks. She liked them. She thought that they went well with the wallpaper. She wasn't entirely sure what purpose they would serve.

Perhaps they would go in a scrapbook, she mused. Or perhaps she would string them into a mobile to hang over the baby's crib.

The baby... She smiled at the simple idea of it, and rested a hand to her swollen belly. She sank back against the couch, eyes closed, a duck balanced on her belly as if it were seated upon a throne.

Niku gently lifted the small, paper duck off Ursah's belly and placed it beside the small army already arrayed on the table. He lightly rested his hand where the duck had been, the firm skin beneath Ursah's maternity blouse warm even through the fabric. He looked at her closed eyes for a while before slowly lifting her glasses off her sleeping face and setting them beside the rows of ducks.

As he went to the linen chest he couldn't help but worry if their child would like ducks or not. The silly little things consumed him these days, it seemed. Were Ursah's eggs all right? Was the toast too dark? Should he take time off work to make sure she didn't over-exert herself like she had when she had wallpapered the nursery? She kept insisting over and over again that he was fretting too much, but her value in his eyes had more than doubled since that phone call.

She seemed so much happier these days, even more than before she had begun going to the clinic. And despite her protests, she was more willing to be pampered, as well. Hopefully she would stop complaining about his constant attention and concern before long.

He fixed his eyes on her as he returned from the chest behind the couch and watched her as he draped a blanket over her sleeping body. He gently kissed her forehead and smiled at her. So many naps recently. Perhaps it meant something? He would have to ask the doctors during their next check-up.

For now he had other, more domestic matters to attend to.

Ursah found the piled shag carpet at a flea market. She'd went shopping for a crib, but instead came home with something that resembled an eccentric frizzy anghora sheep.

Did sheep come in anghora? She didn't really care... the item was rather unique, and for some reason it seemed to be a wonderful focal point for a soft and lighthearted room.

Ursah hadn't been out much in the past few weeks, and was starting to feel like an invalid. Out of nowhere, one day it hit her: She was over halfway through her pregnancy, and the baby's room wasn't anywhere near complete. She scolded herself for her neglect, and used it as an excuse to get out of the house.

Getting out of the house was easy. Getting in the house with a heavy carpet rolled up under your arm was another story. Dragging the frizzled mass through the living room she overturned not one, but two potted plants. The carpet roll refused to bend much, and she had to shove it through the nursery door with all her weight.

As Ursah and the carpet burst through the door, it fell to the floor and unrolled like magic. She grinned, and tugged at one of the corners to place it square in the center of the room. Stooping down, exhausted, she ran her fingers through the plush carpet, and smiled. It felt so nice that she decided to lay down and test its softness.

By the time Niku came from work, there was dirt all over the living room floor, and a very happy bunny asleep on a bit of carpet.

The days seemed to be getting longer. Ursah found herself able to do less and less, impended by the strain of her ever-enlarging belly. She doubted she would ever grow accustomed to the extra bulk - she was forever knocking things off of counters. Just the other day she had singed one of her favorite maternity shirts while trying to fix Niku a breakfast of scrambled eggs. After that, he hadn't permitted her near the stove.

It wasn't only that she was helpless and overencumbered. While each hour drug by painfully slowly, she knew that she had less and less time to finish the baby's room. She'd taken a long hiatus, only ordering a few shelves and some wallpaper border which she still hadn't put up. She doubted that Niku would allow her on the ladder to even try.

Her days were definately growing restless and frustrating, but still she wasn't unhappy. She found herself often resting a hand upon the bulge of her belly, dreaming about the child she would soon have. She spoke to it and even sang sometimes, and couldn't resist pulling up her shirt to watch how her skin would stretch with the kick of the baby's feet.

She was often tired, but she was delighted.