It’s different when it’s your own indeterminate, potato-shaped blob of white noise in a big grey wedge.

The sonogram lady placed the transducer on my wife’s belly, and without further ado, our tiny baby-to-be sprung onto the screen. Two miniature legs were clearly visible, folded against the abdomen; and one of the two arms actually seemed to wave at the camera. (Wouldn’t surprise me in the least.) The bit where the grey didn’t come into proper focus was the heart, beating enthusiastically. A miniscule nose was clearly visible.

With two routine clicks, the sonogirl measured 43,8 mm from head to tush, and thus set our baby’s prenatal age at 11 weeks*, the expected delivery date at November 18.

And then, with just one more simple click, she fixed a little yellow box on the screen at the location where the image wouldn’t focus, hit a button, and just like that, our baby’s heartbeat sounded. “Ka-thump-ka-thump-ka-thump-ka-thump-ka-thump-ka,” the loss of volume caused by our child deciding to become a bit squirmish and twisting away from the sound beam of the sonograph.

Our child has a heartbeat!

The rest of the session was spent gazing awed and moved at how our child twisted and moved every which way, demonstrating a marked aversion to having its picture taken—either that or it was showing off its talent for exercize. Though with our genes, that’s not very likely.

PS: For those exceptionally slow off the mark: I’m going to be a dad!

* The sonogram was a week ago today; I held off on publishing this until the first trimester was complete.