Page 63 of Jasper
The ultrasound room is cooler than I expected. The lights are dimmed. The screen beside the exam table is black, waiting. I sit on the edge, and Jasper stays standing until the nurse gestures to a chair in the corner.
He drags it closer without asking and plants himself next to me, his knee brushing against mine. His hand finds my thigh, fingers tapping once, twice, then going still.
The technician is a kind middle-aged woman with silver strands at her temples. Her voice is soft but focused. She doesn’t ask a lot of questions, just confirms my name and birthdate and pulls on a pair of gloves.
“Have you had any spotting or cramping?”
“No.”
“How about pain or abnormal swelling?”
I shake my head. “I’m just tired. Of course I’ve had some nausea.”
She nods. “That’s normal. Let’s take a look.”
She lowers the table back, rolls my shirt up, and applies the gel. It’s cold, and my body flinches. Jasper’s hand tightens on my thigh. His jaw flexes, but he doesn’t speak.
When the wand touches my belly, I hold my breath. The screen blinks once, then flickers to life. I see our baby for the first time. It’s tiny, curled up with the legs tucked in close. The hands near the face. There’s the spine, the arc of the skull, the soft rhythm of movement. The heart’s visible in the center of its chest, flickering with its own pulse.
The room goes quiet because we’re watching the little form on the monitor. I struggle to keep my emotions in check because seeing my child for the first time makes everything so much more real.
“There’s your baby,” the tech announces.
I blink hard, trying to keep the tears from pooling in my eyes.
Jasper leans forward, his gaze intense.
“The heartbeat looks good,” she continues. “It’s steady and strong.”
She turns up the sound and that’s when I hear it too. The heartbeat sounds like it’s beating a double thump. It’s not like mine or Jasper’s. Our baby’s heartbeat is faster than ours.
The technician turns the screen a little more towards us and starts pointing things out. The almost fingers. The little feet. The roll of the shoulder. She freezes a frame and presses a button that prints out a small black-and-white image.
Jasper’s staring silently. His hand comes out to take the image from my hand, and he brings it closer to his face. He looks truly stunned.
The tech smiles faintly, then studies the angle again. “Would you like to know the sex?”
I nod before I even think about it. “Yeah, we both have been thinking it’s a girl.”
She turns the wand slightly, adjusts the view, then zooms in. “Well,” she says, “I’m sorry to say you’re both very wrong about that. You’re having a boy.”
The words sink in slowly. I’ve been thinking of pink booties and cute baby pants with ruffles on the back. I can’t help but laugh as my brain switches gears. “Really? We’re having a son?”
“Yes. You can tell by looking right here.” She zooms. “It’s sometimes hard to tell at sixteen weeks, but here you go.”
We both lean forward and stare at the monitor. I can barely see something that might mean boy. Jasper exhales shakily, and I smile because it feels like he’s been holding his breath the whole time he was looking at the screen. When the tech hits the button to print another image and hands it to him, Jasper finally leans back, staring at the second image.
He murmurs, “Fucking hell,” under his breath, clearly stunned. Then he drags one big hand over his jaw.
The technician gives me another printed image, like providing visuals of our unborn child is part of the service, and she wants to make sure we get enough to be satisfied.
Dr. Krauss eventually comes in to render her professional opinion. “You’re measuring right on track for four months. He’s healthy. No red flags. Placenta looks good. Keep taking your prenatal vitamins and drinking water.”
I nod, still watching the screen. Still watching our son move around. He’s in his own little world, safe and sound. The tech prints off my images and, by the time the doctor leaves the room, we have a fistful. I gather them all up and begin looking through them as the tech cleans the gel off my stomach.
Jasper comes to his feet with both hands in his pockets. He’s still staring at the screen long after it’s gone black. He only stops once the tech wheels the cart the machine is sitting on away.
“Our son looks really healthy,” I say quietly.
