The nurse puts goo on my belly. I close my eyes, and, as I have done many times before … I wait. For that sound. That wonderful, delicious sound of a baby’s heartbeat. It takes only a moment but that moment feels like an eternity. I’ve been feeling movement on an off for three weeks now so I know in my heart of hearts things are OK but that sound … the helicopter whir … that speaks volumes and puts my mind — if but for a minute — at rest.

“150 beats per minute,” the nurse says with a grin. I open my eyes, holding back tears of joy. We’re in business.

Today’s appointment was a regular monthly check-up — fundal height measurement, questions, blood pressure, weight, and of course … heartbeat. So far, so good.

On May 22 we have the anatomy scan and we’ll find out who is right: Maya, who keeps saying “sister” … or my mom, who a couple weeks ago dreamed it was a little boy. I still think it’s a girl (a hunch I had at the first ultrasound) and am curious to see if my female intuition is right or not. But as long as it’s healthy … that’s all that matters. Boy or girl, we will love him or her to pieces.

It’s raining and snowing out (gotta love Michigan!), but I feel warm and sunny as can be.

I hesitate to say this out loud, but I almost feel like I can start to embrace this experience. Almost. I know nothing is certain, and that’s what keeps me on my toes.