I remember this scene from before. It’s dark in the sonogram room and even though I promised myself I would remain calm, my blood pressure gives me away reading conspicuously high. The technician is incredibly nice.  I feel like I’m experiencing PTSD as she spreads warm gel on my belly and begins working the probe around.

And there you are in black and white on the monitor. I’ve seen you before now, but this is different. This is the appointment where we first learned your sister had a severe heart defect. I feel fairly calm as she begins plotting your measurements. After what seems like an eternity, she begins to focus her search to your heart and right away I know it’s different. I watch it beating. Instantly I can tell that this heart is nothing like the heart that beats inside your sister’s chest. I watch her key onto the screen “4 chamber heart” and feel myself relax more than I have all morning. Suddenly the precious beating of your heart fills the dark room. This too is a stark contrast to the sound your sister’s heart makes. It sounds beautiful and so much different.  A tear slides down my cheek and I wipe the rogue saline away as fast as I can.

The tech is done and leaves the room. I look at my husband and he smiles.

“Did you see? She wrote 4 chamber heart?” He is grinning and his leg is bouncing in what I can only describe as pure excitement.

“I did. I don’t even need her to tell me this heart isn’t the same as Ellie’s. I can tell from the look and sound.” And as I finish the sentence, the tears begin with a vengeance. He thinks I am crying because I am happy, and I am… but that is not the feeling that is dominating my heart. I feel … guilty. I feel guilty for the little girl who has a less than perfect heart beating in her chest. I feel guilty that I could not spare her from the traumas and surgeries. I feel guilty that she has to go this alone. I feel guilty for this baby who will have to spend  time with grandma and grandpa while mommy and daddy take sister to more operations and procedures. I feel guilty for this little child who will have to get less attention because  sister will need it more.  I feel overwhelmed with guilt for these two precious children who, no matter how hard I try, I will never do right by.

I pull it together as we are ushered back to another room to talk to the doctor. Our suspicions are confirmed. There is no evidence of any major birth defects.  She talks about scheduling a fetal echo cardiogram in three weeks to be sure, but right now, everything looks good.  And I can’t feel totally happy. I want to. I’m desperate to.  This is what I wanted and prayed for, but the guilt is laced through all of it.

On the drive home, I desperately search for perspective. I remind myself that both of these children are loved beyond measure. I know I will do the very best I can to show them how much they are loved. I will fail, as humans are destined to do, but there will be times where I succeed. I will try to make the successes more prominent than the failures. I will try to forgive myself and ask for forgiveness. I will love these two as fiercely as I can and I will stop trying to guess what the future holds.

I hold the pictures from the scan in my hand and flip through them again.  I smile as I look at your face; a boy… our little boy. I can’t wait for you to meet us all, especially your big sister.