Learning to SeeFebruary 11, 2010 at 11:29 pm | Posted in Bun | 11 Comments
We had an ultrasound today. Our third so far for Bun.
There were some potential complications that the doctor wanted to look at again. “Usually, these things turn out fine,” he told me two months ago.
And it’s been two long months. Of me dwelling on “these things.” Not even things. Potential things.
Yet I worried. Every day, I looked for the smallest sign that something, anything, everything was wrong. Like the shadow-monsters my daughter sees behind her bedroom curtains, I mentally fought to keep my thoughts back, hold them at bay, imagine them away. Yet they lingered, lurked.
Even living with the monsters, I let myself get excited. Just a little. What would Bun look like in the third trimester? How big would he be? Would he suck his thumb or frown over his hiccups or pull on his ears, all the sweet gestures I had gotten to see my babies do only after they were born?
When the technician brought Bun up on the screen today, she said, “Oh!” And then, “Do you see that sweet face?”
And I panicked. Because, no, I didn’t see it. I couldn’t see it. I saw black and white swirls, amorphous shapes, things. Certainly not my sweet baby’s face. I felt my heart in my toes.
“What am I looking at?” I asked. “Where is he?” Panic.
She adjusted the scope on my belly. Pushed a little harder. “There.”
And there he was. I could see. No things. Nothing. Just him.
His beautiful, chubby, sleepy, hopeful face. His eyes, his nose, his cheeks. His smile. Smiling at me.
A reflection of me, of his father, of his sister and brother. Yet all his own.
And mine, all mine.
I feel as though I first met him today. He has been growing inside me for months, but I haven’t let myself imagine him: the baby he is, the person he will be, the child I will hold in my arms very soon.
Because there were “things.” And I couldn’t see past them. I couldn’t see him.
And though he hasn’t yet seen the world with his own eyes, today he taught me to see. To see things a little differently.