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OK, I admit… I’m nervous. A friend asked me yesterday if I was, and I said, honestly, “No. I guess not.” I was not then, but last night as I told a friend we had our first appointment today with the doctor… I was nervous.

It’s been 9 months now. Seems long enough, and in many ways it is. Much of the hurt has passed with time, helped in some way by the hope we now have. But occasional sights or thoughts will trigger a twinge of pain and a memory of something hoped for.

The last time we put the doppler device on Jen’s belly, there was only silence. A heart-wrenching, lifeless silence. There were hints that we might experience that outcome, but hope can reach beyond realism. And then, hope dissapointed can produce a significant crash.

Today, we will once again listen for life. The rapid, rhythmic pulse of a newly beating heart. The signs of life this time have been only positive. Everything seems to be going as it should, which is very different from the last time down this path. And yet, I dread the moment we will try to listen for the heartbeat.

Perhaps it’s like returning to the lake where a child drowned, or the scene of the accident where your loved one was lost. I don’t mean to minimize the loss of someone you have shared life with by comparing them to someone I never met, but the hurt from our experience is at least in the same genus, if not the same species.

So, with a very strange combination of excitement and dread, we will meet with our friend and our doctor today to verify by modern medicine that the life growing inside of Jen is in fact a life and growing.

I will let you know how it goes.
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I saved this post till after we got back. The moment came, and I was not really at ease about it, but I knew whatever outcome, God is good and is with us.

When she first put the little thingie on Jen’s belly, we heard nothing. The doctor told us that it’s only about 50/50 at this point that we can hear a heart beat, so she tried to reassure us… but that is exactly not what I wanted to hear. I was already trying to prepare myself for how to deal with losing another baby.

But, the doctor thought perhaps we could try a different angle, so she tried.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.

Wow. Relief. Peace. Joy. Excitement. Smiles. Gratitude. There’s a thriving, happy baby in there. 170 beats per minute. Very … normal.

We are relieved and excited. Taking steps all the time to really enjoy and soak in the greatness of another life God has added to our family.

Amazing.