Sixteen weeks

Yesterday morning I had my monthly prenatal visit (16 weeks!) and Matt and I heard our baby's heartbeat on the doppler for the first time.

I remember that moment so well with Suzannah (of course, we didn't know she was a Suzannah yet). I sat in that freezing cold room for what felt like hours, wondering if there was really a baby in there. Matt tried to reassure me, but he was distracted by a visual aid showing a fully-dilated cervix on the wall. When my midwife showed up and suggested that we listen to the baby, my heart nearly pounded its way right through my shirt -- and when she caught that little whompwhompwhompwhomp I couldn't stop laughing. It was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.

We heard this baby's heartbeat on the ultrasound machine about five weeks ago, a strong, healthy 176 bpm. So this time I wasn't exactly doubting that there was, indeed, a baby in me. But five weeks is a long time to wait, and so far I haven't had any concrete second-trimester proof that she's alive and thriving (except, of course, for the fact that I've already begun to feel those goldfish flutters, and nevermind my ever-expanding stomach). So it was still with some trepidation that I sat there yesterday, waiting for what felt like forever.

Matt was unfazed by the fully-dilated cervix on the wall. He's seen the real thing up close now. Plus, he brought a magazine.

"Gee," I said. "It's so great that we have this unexpected chunk of time together this morning! I mean, we don't always get to just hang out and talk every day, right?"

He reached over and absently rubbed my back. He didn't look up.

"I'm queasy," I complained. "That's kinda making it worse."

"Sorry," he murmured, turning a page. He patted my knee instead.

"Wow," I said. "Look at that. That's how big my cervix has to get, you know. To fit a person through it and all."

"Yes, Baby," he replied mildly. "I know."

"Remember when that used to freak you out?"

"Yes. I'm blocking it out now."

"Or you're ignoring me."

"I'm not ignoring you."

"I'm actually, at this very moment, strongly considering just grabbing that magazine out of your hand and flinging it at that wall."

"Sorry! It's just -- it's a really interesting article!"

"I'm so glad it's more interesting than your wife's cervix and the fact that I have to push a person out pretty soon. I shouldn't have bored you by making you come."

He put down the magazine. "Baby," he said.

"No, really, it's fine. Finish your interesting article."

(This is another test to see if Matt reads this blog ever. If he does, I'm sure I'll hear about it.)

My regular midwife is out of town, so I met one of the others in the practice. She was very nice, but all I really wanted to hear were the words, "Let's listen to Baby!" I hopped up on the table and felt my heart begin to pound. Please, please really be there, I thought.

Within seconds, we heard the whompwhompwhompwhompwhompwhompwhomp I've been waiting for.

"That's the baby's heartbeat?" Matt asked.

"Yep. Everything sounds great!" the midwife smiled.

And it does. It's right up there with the sound of my daughter's laughter -- one of the most perfect sounds in the world. I'm so grateful for it, because this week has brought some terrible reminders that there are no guarantees, not even after the magic twelve-week mark that every pregnant woman anxiously awaits. I belong to an online community of women who are all due in December, and this week, two of them received news that every mother dreads. One went in for her anatomy scan at eighteen weeks, hoping to find out the sex of her baby, and instead she learned that her baby has bilateral renal agensis -- a fatal condition in which the baby develops with no kidneys. The pregnancy will likely progress as normal, but if the baby survives until birth, she'll live only moments. The mother has decided to carry the baby to term anyway, just for the chance to hold her for those few moments and say goodbye. It's more than I can imagine -- I have no idea what I would do in her shoes -- and I think she's so brave in the face of such staggering heartbreak. The other woman learned at fourteen weeks that her baby has died, probably in the last day or two. Meanwhile, I'm growing rounder, feeling these flutters, and our baby's heart beats strong inside me. All I can do is pray and pray that we'll be allowed to keep her and continue to find the joy above the worry.