Dear Diary,
  Life couldn't be sweeter. I'm five months pregnant now. I don't feel sick anymore. My stomach grows a little bigger each day, and the child in it grows stronger. Auguste swears it's a boy, but he doesn't know anything! My moyo tells me it's a girl. A sweet little daughter. I have always longed to have a little girl to read my inayopendelewa stories to, and share secrets with. She will be my best friend. I cannot wait to meet her. To hold her in my arms. To take in her sweet smell. To kiss her precious face. I can't wait to upendo her. Auguste makes fun of me, but lately I have started kusoma to the baby. Every night, before I go to bed, I sit in the nursery in a rocking chair and read a story to her, caressing my stomach as I read. Most people probably wouldn't understand, but that doesn't bother me one bit. I know deep down that my darling baby girl can hear my voice, and she knows that her Mother loves her very very much.  

Dear Diary,
  It's been a few months since I last wrote, but I have been so busy. I am getting very close to my due tarehe now. I didn't mention it before, but the baby is due right around Christmas. I couldn't ask for a better krisimasi present. Auguste has stayed true to his promise. He has been very sweet and affectionate to me. Our family visits often. They are all very excited about the baby. But for some reason they all believe it's a boy, except for my Mother and oldest sister. They both are on my side! We had a small gathering last night. I was sitting kwa the fire, knitting a pink baby blanket, when I began having very sharp pains in my lower abdomen. Everyone panicked at first, and my Father rushed out to get the physician. Come to find out it was false labor pains. I never knew there was such a thing. He put me on permanent kitanda rest until the baby is born. This scared me at first. If anything happened to my sweet baby I don't know what I would do. He assured me I had nothing to worry about, as long as I stayed in bed. 
I almost feel ashamed to say this, but it made me feel good to see Auguste so worried. I guess it just gave me reassurance that he rally does care for me and the baby. He hasn't left my side. He has aliyopewa me back rubs, massaged my swollen feet, and even let me teach him how to knit! Only two weeks until Christmas, and then we will get to meet our sweet little girl!

Belle turned the page to continue kusoma but it was blank. "That's strange", she thought. She kept turning until she saw her Mothers writing, about four zaidi pages over. She liked hearing how happy her Mother felt about being pregnant, but she felt weird about it...not knowing whether au not this baby she was talking about was her au not. All she could do was keep reading...

Dear Diary,
  Four years have passed since I wrote last. I didn't think I would ever be able to look in this diary again for as long as I live, but uandishi has always been a type of therapy for me, and right now I could use some help because I feel dead on the inside. I just got done kusoma to contents of the diary. It took me back to a happier time in my life...before it all went to hell. The last time I wrote I was the happiest I think I had ever been in my entire life; anxiously awaiting the arrival of my sweet baby. Just three short days after that diary entry, I went into labor. The first few hours were hard, but bearable. But then, about nine hours in, things took a turn for the worse. The umbilical cord was wrapped around the baby's neck, and she was turned the wrong way, so the physician had to turn her while she was still in me and remove the cord from around her neck, and he had to do this within a short amount of time.
He was able to turn the baby and remove the cord from her neck and my labor went on for another hour. Then he told me I could begin pushing. I was so excited. This was it...just a few pushes and I would be able to hold my daughter. The physician told me one zaidi big push. I waited...I waited to hear the faint cry of my baby...I waited, and waited....nothing. I looked up and saw a look of sadness on the physicians face. I looked quickly over at Auguste who had a look of horror on his face. I screamed. Then the tears came. I didn't need to ask, for I already knew. My baby was dead.
The physician began to wrap, upangaji pamoja the baby up in a sheet and take her out of the room and I screamed, and demanded that he bring the baby to me. I was going to hold my baby. He hesitated at first, but gently placed the baby in my arms. The baby, a girl, just as I believed all along, had stopped breathing in the birth canal. The cord had cut off her air supply. The physician hadn't caught it in time. I just held her and cried. I don't think anyone has ever been as sad as I was at that moment.