Keeping the sonographer talking
As the black-and-white image appeared on the monitor, all the emotions of the first scan came rushing back, and it was overwhelmingly brilliant to see our little baby again all these weeks later, its tiny heart racing away. I was keen to keep the sonographer talking, convinced that as long as she was speaking, everything was well. If she fell silent, it was time to worry.
In her soft voice, she started explaining the areas she was studying. “That's the brain looking fine... there are the four chambers of the heart... and two eyes in the sockets... its little feet crossed over.” We were transfixed by the incredible detail we could make out on the screen.
To be honest, she did also point out some indistinguishable shadows, which could have been anything, but we continued happily nodding and grinning at the screen as tears trickled down my face.
“Your baby appears to be developing normally,” she summed up. And as we emerged from the calm and quiet of that dark little room, into the bright chatter-filled hospital hallway, I managed to hold myself together for the few minutes it took to duck out of view of the others in the waiting room. Then my emotions took over, and I had a little cry in Ed's arms.
Everything had been as good as we could have hoped for. It was another small milestone and, in that moment, we were quietly overjoyed. It wasn't just being reassured that the baby seemed to have all the right bits in all the right places that felt amazingly moving, we found out another exciting detail, too.