Week 15: Sounds like an athlete

A couple sat across from us in the waiting room, seated a few inches from each other and studiously read magazines while making occasional, quiet comments. We, on the other hand, were going to hear our baby’s heartbeat in a matter of minutes and felt like students on the last day of school. We sat close on the narrow, hard office-sofa and waited anticipatively.

He started laughing, “Listen to this.” He told me a story about a project he was doing at work and a significant mistake that included the listing of a deceased celebrity as available to chat online. He was laughing so hard he could barely get the words out, which made me laugh. Then we were laughing uncontrollably, covering our mouths to mute the noise and swiping at the tears in our eyes.

I glanced at the couple across the room and they acted like they did not notice our commotion. Once we were subdued we returned to our magazines. I continued reading an article with questions and answers related to stages of pregnancy. I scanned one question about fierce mood swings and poured over the answer.

“When does that start?” Dave was looking over my shoulder and pointed at the part of the article I was reading.

My eyes crept over his face, searching for sarcasm, but found none. “Aw, you’re nice.”

“I’m serious.”

I stared at him blankly. “It’s happening.”

He just laughed. God knew what he was doing with this match, I thought. Oblivion truly is sweet.

And then we were called into the office. After the ominous weigh-in, urine sample handoff and the blood pressure-cuff strangle, I was flat on my back waiting for my tummy to be covered in lubricant.

“I’m leaving the practice, just wanted to let you guys know that.” My doctor said as she worked the microphone over my stomach. She explained the reasons and I worried that I would miss the sound of the heartbeat in an effort to listen politely. “I’ve had this problem all evening, where is that heartbeat? Could you just lower your pants a little more?”

The doctor continued to search and I finally asked, “Are you sure there’s a baby in there?”

I meant it as a joke but I think it flustered her. “I’m sure.” She replied with an effort toward laughter.

There it was. It sounded so fast, like the baby was doing aerobics. All I could see was Dave’s face smiling as if he just saw a glimpse of our happy future.

“It’s so fast.” I murmured.

“That’s how I know it’s not yours. Sounds perfectly normal.” She lifted the instrument and the sound stopped.

As we walked out to the car I admitted, “I wish she has let us listen longer.”

“Me too.”

“They have things like that that you can use at home.”

“Yeah? Let’s go get one.”

Fifteen minutes later we were in our new wonderland. Babies R Us. Half hour after that we were trying to copy the picture of the smiling couple on the front of the package, each wearing the headphones as “Daddy” searched for the baby’s heartbeat on “Mommy’s” tummy. All we heard was static.

“Stop breathing.” Dave suggested.

The instrument was simply not as sensitive as the doctor’s, so we got nothing. We put it away and sat there, the beats we had heard replaying in our minds. I finally believe it. I can finally let go of my skepticism and believe that we truly have a baby growing inside of me.