The past 20 weeks have been somewhat a blur, and yet I remember certain days as though they are carved from marble. The days we have had ultrasounds tend to be the ones I'm talking about.
Our first ultrasound was at about 7.5 weeks. Josh and I were anxious and excited, surges of energy and bliss meeting nerves and prayer that this pregnancy will proceed far better than the last, as I miscarried our first just a few months before. We had lost the baby at 5.5 weeks, so we knew how monumental this ultrasound appointment truly was.
Josh and I sat in the small ultrasound room as the tech, Mary, prepared us for the first pictures of our little bundle. After a few deep breaths from each of us, the monitor was powered up and the search for Baby K was on. Searching, searching . . . . . . And within a minute, I laid eyes on it. On what I had yet to discover was a him. On our baby. Then, out of the pure silence, the room filled with a sound so beautiful to the human ear, I wanted to cuddle up to it and never let it go. 'Thump-tha-thump-tha-thump-tha-thump.'
"There's the heartbeat!" exclaimed Mary, and at that point, any ability to maintain composure was out the nursery window. Josh and I cried with joy at the sight and sound of our little bundle's heartbeats, a sense of calm washing over us. All was well with baby! As the ultrasound continued, they found that I had what is called a subchorionic bleed, which is fairly common and typically clears up on its own within a month or so. Small potatoes. I was going to be a mama, and the incredible man to my left, a daddy.
We went to Chompies afterward for the best tasting grilled cheese of my life.
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