Baseline ultrasound, day 3...

I'm taking y'all back to day 3 of my cycle, the day of my baseline ultrasound. The baseline ultrasound is something they do to establish that everything is fine before you start giving yourself tons of fertility drugs. They want to make sure there aren't any cysts, that your uterine lining looks good, etc.

I woke up to go to my baseline after dreaming that they'd found out that I was pregnant while they were doing the ultrasound. In my dream, the bleeding that looked like a period wasn't at all. Instead of an empty black and white uterus on the ultrasound screen, I saw a tiny baby. I was sad to wake up to the reality of what my morning would probably look like instead.

I tried to get a friend to watch Seth for this appointment, but it didn't work out. I didn't want to take him into that waiting room full of sorrowful/hopeful/nervous women. I didn't want them to see the tangible evidence of that grace that they'd been denied so far. I remembered how it felt to see babies in the waiting room, in the one doctor's office where I thought I'd be safe from seeing them.

Fortunately, there was no one there when I arrived at 10:00. One couple came in while we were there. I made a point to say to them as I left, "I'm hoping for another miracle like this one." They had understanding smiles for me, and I felt slightly less guilty.

Going into the ultrasound room brought back bad memories of all those times I'd done it before. I received the same instructions. But... this time it was different.

As I went into the bathroom to change, Seth started crying in his stroller. The nurse tried to calm him down, but the screaming continued. His cries weirdly made me smile. "I am not alone this time. He is here, crying in the other room. I have him."

This time, he sat there next to me, munching his rice chex and cheerios, watching the screen with me. I said to him, "That's what you looked like, way back in the beginning. You started just like this." A smile, another Cheerio pushed in a little bird mouth with a tiny, grubby hand.

After I changed my clothes, after the nurse had left, I knelt down next to the stroller. I kissed his head, and I told him how much I loved him. I teared up a little as I told him about God's goodness to us. This time is different. Even if I never have another baby, I have him.

Sometimes it feels just plain greedy to ask for another miracle. In a world of limited resources, its easy to imagine that me getting to have another child takes one away from another infertile woman with empty arms. I am almost ashamed to be seeking another priceless treasure. I have him. I don't know how this month will end, but I know that if it ends badly, I will be less devastated because of Seth.