One hundred sixty-four

We had another appointment today. It was the usual: "How are you feeling?" "Do you have any questions?" "Here, sign this paper." I peed in a cup (and all over my hand, but that wasn't technically part of the test) to check for things like hCG count and an asymptomatic urinary tract infection. Then she drew my blood to test for things like blood type (I know already I'm B+), syphilis (a state requirement), and anemia (which was a problem, I've been told, for my mom and her sister, but so far I've been fine). She offered to add on there an HIV (and other crazy disorders) screen, but we declined. I told her it had been long enough since my intravenous drug use days in dark, dark alleyways that I wasn't concerned any more. (It's a good thing she has a sense of humor because I said that without thinking that she doesn't know me well enough to know that I meant that entirely in jest.)

Then (cue hero-reaches-the-pinnacle-of-the-movie music), she pulled out a little white machine and a bottle of cold blue goo. I wiggled my pants down a smidge and she applied the cold blue goo to my belly with her Star Trek-esque device. She made a few slow passes across my lower abdomen, picking up my heartbeat a few times, but nothing close to a baby sound. Kelly and I were just starting to get worried that LBH wouldn't cooperate or, worse, that there was nothing to hear any more, when she moved the chess piece-sized gameboy lower toward my pubic bone. Then, clear as day, she picked up a quick, strong, definite wooshing sound. I already knew that was it - and probably Kelly did too - but it didn't hit me until she said: "There it is," and her voice smiled.

It was so cool, I laughed a little in amazement. My little tummy vibrations moved either her device or LBH and she had to search again, but this time, knowing LBH was so low, she picked up the magical little noise again quickly. I think Kelly and I held our breath for a few seconds, just listening. We both grew a little teary-eyed. She gave us a minute before she commented on how strong the heartbeat was and told us that it was beating at 164 beats per minute. Then she let us listen in silence a bit more. I think I broke the silence first when I looked at Kelly and said, "It's real," which prompted us talking about how cool the whole thing was.

Eventually, she put the Doppeler away and we finished the appointment and made a date for our next appointment four weeks out. But it was there, nice and strong and loud: our baby's heart. There's no doubting it now. There's no reason left to wonder (yes, we've been so silly) if maybe we wanted it so bad that our hopeful thinking wasn't just making me have symptoms of a pregnancy that didn't actually exist. The countdown is real, the hopes are real, the dream is real.

It was the coolest, most magical, most wondrous noise I've ever heard in my whole life. I don't worry about being worried or scared or full of concern any more. Now, I'm just excited. And now that I'm certain that everything is real - real times one-hundred-sixty-four - it's even better.