We saw Dr. Simmons today and, for the first time, our baby! I tried to contain my excitement as I sat in the waiting room while Chip paced back and forth. He’d never accompanied me to any OB-GYN appointments before and was nervous.

When the nurse called my name, she asked Chip to remain in the waiting area, assuring him she’d get him when she and the doctor were ready. I didn’t have to see his face to know he didn’t like being left behind.

As I followed the nurse through the door she introduced herself as Karen and asked for the requisite urine sample. (No problem there.) Next she asked me to step on the scale. Not wanting to add another five pounds, I shed my purse and watched the red electronic numbers race to an even one-forty. I wondered how long that figure would last and how much worse it would get before the fat lady sang. (Maybe not the best analogy.) Karen asked me to have a seat in the lab chair, took my blood pressure, and wanted to know the last date of my period.

Everything was pretty routine up until that point. I’d undergone all those tasks and answered that question during each of my annual visits, but that’s where the GYN visit took the OB exit. Karen produced a chart and consulted it to determine my estimated due date.

“February fourteenth.” She looked up, smiling. “Valentine’s Day.”

She took my blood pressure and drew some blood before leading me to an exam room with an ultrasound machine. Instructing me to undress completely and put on the hospital gown, she left saying that Dr. Simmons would see me shortly.

Moments later Chip came through the door, brightened when he saw me, then frowned when he realized I was by myself. “You mean we have to wait some more?”

I assured him everything was completely normal and told him that it’s just how medical offices operate. He muttered and began pacing again.

Just about the time I felt I would snap from being in a confined space with my agitated husband, we heard a soft rap at the door and Dr. Simmons entered. He shook Chip’s hand in introduction before turning to inquire how I was feeling. Taking a seat, the doctor crossed his legs and acted like he had all the time in the world to spend with us.

“Ellie, do you have any questions or concerns that I may address?”

I nodded. “I’m thirty-five, so I’m concerned about the health of the baby.”

Dr. Simmons was so mild-mannered and slow to respond that I wondered if he had heard me or died on the spot. (Chip later told me he’s concerned that Simmons might not respond quickly enough in an emergency.) But the doctor eventually did speak and pulled out a graph along with statistics confirming that the number of birth defects did, indeed, increase with age. Nevertheless, he also pointed out that even women over age forty who can keep from miscarrying have an 87.5 percent chance of giving birth to a perfectly healthy baby.

I exhaled, not even realizing I’d been holding my breath. “That makes me feel a lot better.”

Simmons smiled. “Well, would the two of you like to see your baby?”

“You bet!” Chip said. I bit my lip and nodded.

Dr. Simmons turned out the light so we could see the image more clearly. I held my breath again as he poked and prodded until something appeared on the monitor.

Never in my life have I seen anything more beautiful than that tiny little figure with the enormous eyes, protruding belly, and flapping arm buds. As I watched our baby’s heart beating on the black and white monitor, I felt a tear slide down my face and pool against my cheek on the examining table.

Chip was beside himself and the happiest I’ve seen in a long time. “How about that?” he kept saying with a grin and shake of the head. He even waved at the screen and said, “Hey there, baby!” not caring that the nurse stood snickering in the corner.

I loved Chip’s hand on my shoulder and face next to mine as we gazed at the image of our little one. He kissed my forehead as we watched the baby move. How fitting that our estimated due date, or “go time,” as Chip calls it, is Valentine’s Day.

We laughed and chatted all the way home as we formulated a plan to tell our families. Chip bounded in the front door and immediately picked up the phone. We’d decided to call his mom under the guise of updating her on the latest news about some friends from high school that he’s kept in touch with over the years.

“Oh, Mom, that reminds me. I forgot to tell you.” He threw me a sly look. “You’ll never guess who’s going to have a baby.”

“Who?”

Chip held out the phone so we could speak simultaneously. “We are!”

I’ll never forget how her laughter and excitement bubbled through the receiver.

Next he called his older brother, the sire of five youngsters. I could hear the “Awww!” from across the room.

Chip and I went to our favorite steakhouse to celebrate and ordered the works, propping the ultrasound picture against the salt and pepper shakers. The waitress spotted it, asked if congratulations were in order, then proceeded to regale us for the next ten minutes about her pregnancy and the ensuing infancy of her now one-year-old son. When she finally left with our order, Chip looked at me. “I’m not putting up with that for the next seven months. That was exhausting.”

Sorry, bud, but when I start showing, I don’t think you’ll have much choice.

Since my parents live in town, we wanted to tell them in person and called them after leaving the restaurant. I told my dad we were going to be in the neighborhood and asked if we could drop by. I don’t know what I would have done if he’d said no! After all, he and Mom have been waiting for this as long as we have.

Before I got out of the car, I stuck the sonogram picture in with some photos Chip and I took at the family gathering on July Fourth. Once inside I sat between my parents to show them the prints. About seven pictures into the stack, the ultrasound came up. In my peripheral vision I saw both my parents start, then break into a hullabaloo of hugs, laughter, and tears.

What a wonderful day.