I wrote this back in January and never got around to posting:
A couple weeks ago, I spent the better part of a Tuesday morning laying on cushioned pad with my shirt pulled up to my bra line. A chipper, blonde ultrasound technician slid her wand around my abdomen as I craned my neck to the right, trying to get a clearer view of screen in front of her. It was my 22 week ultrasound appointment, happening at 23 weeks & 3 days due to our quick trip to Denver late last week. Our second baby is due to arrive in May. I watched as she documented all 4 chambers of the heart, performing their synchronized routine. I watched as the baby gave us a glimpse of his or her perfectly pouty and plumped lips, flashing us a smile. Those same lips that already grace my son Henry's little face.. I was in love.
Something I've noticed this second time around, the pregnancy hasn't quite had the luster that it did the first time around. Don't get me wrong, we are beyond thrilled to be pregnant again after many many months of trying and, so far, this pregnancy has been very kind to me. I think I've felt this way because I've already gone through all of these things once before. The mystery of not knowing what comes next has faded a tad. And maybe its because I'm busier in life this time around, being a good mama to Henry. Regardless, I've felt a smidge guilty about it. Then our ultrasound happened. Seeing that baby's face, and hands and feet and that tiny beating heart made something awaken within me again. The realness of that baby really hit me. He or she is their own person, their own being... someone I've not met before. This someone is not Henry, they are a new adventure completely their own that we get to be a part of. This is new. Its all going to be new again. Somebody pinch me, please.