When Even Onomatopoeia Fails

My heart was in my throat as I sat in a rather uncomfortable chair, ears straining for the slightest sound. The woman swept the probe back and forth, seeking some sonic purchase. Will shifted uncomfortably, but silently in my lap, his tolerance for “grown-up” pursuits exhausted. The seconds stretched into what seemed like hours, each one more dread-filled than the last. Would she find it? Had something gone wrong? Could we handle the loss?
The tension got the best of me; I stood and began pacing slightly in the tiny room, clutching my son to my chest. I realized that I had been subconsciously holding my breath, almost not daring to breathe for fear of missing that sound. Silence. A slightly worried look flashed across the woman’s face — I cannot believe that our faces reflected anything other than worry.
Then, a final sweep across my wife’s belly, and there it was: the swishing, swooshing, steady “woof-woof-woof-woof” of our second child’s heartbeat. To hear it, to experience it brought reality crashing in — they’re real! And they’re coming soon!
I can hardly wait.