Today was a dreary, cloudy, drippy, forget-the-groundhog, winter-isn't-ending day.
But my heart was filled with so much joy. And promise. And unspeakable gratitude.
Today I saw a sparkle. A jewel of black and white. A little routine ultrasound static to the tired technician, but to me, it shone like the sun. It was the sweet spot in the middle of the target and my eyes could see nothing else: My sweet unborn child has a heartbeat. Barely one week of beating, it beats strong and constant and in the rhythms of its own. My 6 week old fetus, barely the size of a lentil has a fully functioning healthy organ to produce life-sustaining blood through the course of her infinitesimal see-through veins.
I've never seen such a tiny form before.
I was mandated by law to have an ultrasound when I was entering into my 43 week of gestation with my firstborn daughter. That 4D ultrasound showed a larger than life child with moving lungs and ribs, a four-chambered heart, sucking thumb and ten tiny toenails curled under her fleshy rump of her 10 pound self. It was unreal how clear we could see every wrinkle in her skin and the curls in her eyelashes. [Turned out, my due date was the following day. She was born 8 days after that: 41w1d.]
This was remarkably different.
I've sat on that chair before. I've looked at that screen before. I've been this far along before. But there wasn't a sparkle in his soul that brought him to life. I looked at a screen 5 months ago (to the day) that was a tangled web of tissue without form and without promise of breath.
Today, I saw my child welcoming life. I saw promise. I saw a marvelous creation fashioned by God's own hands, living proof of his remarkable design.
Dear ultrasound tech, sorry to have sobbed. I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable.
