Chapter 96 First Glimpse
Harper's POV,
The first ultrasound was scheduled for eight weeks, on a Wednesday morning when Crew didn't have practice.
Both our mothers flew in the day before. Susan from Colorado, Diane from Minnesota. They arrived within two hours of each other and immediately bonded over their shared excitement about becoming grandmothers.
"I brought six different baby name books," Susan announced, pulling them out of her suitcase like treasure. "I've been making lists."
"I crocheted a blanket," Diane countered, showing off a blue and white creation. "Took me three weeks. I figured neutral colors since you don't know the gender yet."
They were adorable. They were also overwhelming.
"Mom, we're eight weeks pregnant," I said, watching them arrange baby items around our apartment like they were staging a nursery. "We don't need to pick names or have blankets yet."
"You need to start thinking about these things! Babies require planning!" Susan flipped open one of her name books. "Now, I like Emma for a girl, but Diane thinks that's too common—"
"I never said it was too common, I said it's in the top ten most popular names. Which means she'll have three Emmas in her kindergarten class."
"We don't even know if it's a girl yet," I interjected.
"But if it is, you need options!" Susan turned to another page. "What about Charlotte? Or Olivia? Or—"
"Mom. Please. Let us get through the first trimester before you plan the entire childhood."
Crew was hiding on the balcony, claiming he needed to call David but actually just escaping the grandmother energy.
That night, lying in bed, he said: "Our moms are intense."
"They're excited. Let them have this."
"Harper, your mom has a spreadsheet of baby gear organized by priority and cost. A spreadsheet. With color-coding."
"That's how she shows love. Through aggressive organization."
"My mom keeps crying randomly. She cried looking at the onesies Maya bought. She cried reading a baby name book. She cried at dinner when I mentioned we need to find a bigger apartment."
"She's emotional. That's sweet."
"It's a lot." He turned to face me. "What if tomorrow's ultrasound shows something wrong? What if there's no heartbeat? What if—"
"Stop. Don't catastrophize before we even know anything."
"I'm catastrophizing because I'm terrified. Our moms are here. Everyone's excited. What if we have to tell them something went wrong?"
I grabbed his hand. "Then we deal with it. Together. But Crew, we can't live in fear of all the things that might go wrong. We just have to show up and hope for the best."
"That's not very reassuring."
"It's realistic. Which is all we have."
\---
The OB-GYN's office was in a medical building downtown, modern and clean with abstract art on the walls that was probably supposed to be calming but just looked expensive.
Our mothers came with us despite my initial protest. They sat in the waiting room holding hands like schoolgirls while Crew and I filled out paperwork.
"Previous pregnancies?" the form asked.
I checked "No."
"Father's medical history?"
Crew leaned over. "What do I put for the addiction stuff? Do they need to know?"
"Put it. They should know everything."
So I wrote: "Father in recovery from opioid addiction. Six months sober. Currently in therapy and attending regular meetings."
The nurse who called us back was young and cheerful. "First pregnancy?"
"Yes."
"How are you feeling? Any morning sickness?"
"Some nausea in the mornings. Mostly just tired."
"That's normal for the first trimester. The fatigue should improve around week twelve." She took my blood pressure, weight, asked more medical history questions. "The doctor will be in shortly for the ultrasound. You can bring family in after if you'd like—I saw you have some excited people in the waiting room."
"My mom and his mom. They flew in for this."
"That's sweet. First grandbaby?"
"For both of them."
"Then definitely bring them in after. They'll want to see."
Dr. Patricia Yoon was in her forties, confident and warm in that way good doctors managed. She shook both our hands, reviewed my chart, asked the standard questions.
"Any concerns so far?"
"Just the normal first-time parent terror," I said.
"That's very normal. Let's take a look and see how everything's developing." She set up the ultrasound machine. "This will be transvaginal since you're early. It gives us a better view. You'll feel some pressure but it shouldn't hurt."
Crew held my hand while Dr. Yoon maneuvered the probe, eyes on the screen. I watched her face for any sign of concern.
"There we go," she said after a moment, turning the screen toward us. "See that little flicker? That's the heartbeat."
And there it was. A tiny pulsing light in the center of a dark space. Fast. Strong. Unmistakably alive.
"Oh my god," Crew whispered.
Dr. Yoon smiled. "Heartbeat looks good. Strong and regular. Measuring right at eight weeks exactly. Due date looks like June 20th." She took measurements, narrating as she went. "Everything looks healthy so far. I know it's hard to see much at this stage—mostly just a blob with a heartbeat—but structurally everything appears normal."
"That's our blob," Crew said, voice thick.
"That's your blob. Who will eventually become a baby." Dr. Yoon printed several ultrasound photos. "Do you want to hear the heartbeat?"
"Yes," we said simultaneously.
She turned on the sound. A rapid whooshing filled the room—thump-thump-thump-thump, impossibly fast, like a tiny drum.
I started crying. Couldn't help it. That sound—that impossible, beautiful sound—was our baby. Actually real. Actually existing.
Crew was crying too, squeezing my hand so hard it hurt.
"Heartbeat is 162 beats per minute, which is perfect for eight weeks," Dr. Yoon said, giving us a moment. "I'm going to step out and let you get dressed. Then we can bring in your family if you'd like."
After she left, Crew and I just sat there listening to the heartbeat until the nurse turned off the machine.
"We made that," he said. "We made an actual human."
"We did."
"Holy shit."
"Yeah."
I got dressed. Dr. Yoon came back with more information—prenatal vitamins, what to eat, what to avoid, when to schedule the next appointment. I absorbed maybe half of it, too overwhelmed to process.
"Can we bring our moms in now?" I asked.
"Absolutely. I'll bring them back."
Susan and Diane came in holding hands, both trying to look calm and failing completely.
"Everything's okay?" Susan asked immediately.
"Everything's perfect." I handed her one of the ultrasound photos. "That's your grandchild."
Both of them burst into tears.
"I can't see anything," Diane said, wiping her eyes. "What am I looking at?"
Dr. Yoon pointed to the screen, still frozen on the image. "This dark space is the gestational sac. This lighter area here is the embryo. And this flickering—" she pressed play on the saved video, "—is the heartbeat."
The sound filled the room again. Thump-thump-thump-thump.
Susan made a sound like she'd been punched. "That's the baby?"
"That's the baby."
"Oh my god. Oh honey." She hugged me so tight I couldn't breathe. "You're really having a baby."
Diane was hugging Crew, both of them crying. "I'm so proud of you," she kept saying. "So proud."
We spent twenty minutes in that exam room, passing around ultrasound photos, listening to the heartbeat recording Dr. Yoon had saved for us, crying and laughing and trying to process the fact that this was real.
\---
At lunch afterward—a celebration meal at a restaurant near the clinic—our mothers couldn't stop talking.
"Did you see how fast the heartbeat was?" Diane said for the fifth time.
"162 beats per minute," Susan confirmed. "I wrote it down. I'm keeping track of everything."
"Of course you are," I muttered.
"This is important data! You'll want to remember these details!"
Crew was quiet, staring at the ultrasound photo he'd insisted on keeping in his wallet. Just staring at that tiny blob like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.
"You okay?" I asked quietly.
"That's our kid. Like, our actual kid. Growing inside you right now."
"Yes it is."
"I need to make sure I stay sober. Not just for me. For them." He looked at me. "Harper, I can't fuck this up. I can't be a dad who's using. I have to be present."
"You will be. You are being. You're doing the work."
"But what if it's not enough?"
"Then you do more work. But Crew, you're six months sober. You're going to meetings. You're in therapy. You have support. You're doing everything right."
"Everything right except being certain I won't relapse."
"Nobody's certain about that. Recovery is one day at a time. Today, you're sober. Tomorrow, you'll choose to be sober again. That's all you can do."
He put his hand on my stomach under the table. "Hey blob. Your dad's trying really hard to be someone you're proud of. So cut him some slack, okay?"
Susan leaned over. "Are you talking to the baby?"
"Just letting them know the situation. Setting expectations early."
"That's very wise. Communication is important." She pulled out her phone. "Now, I've been researching pediatricians in Vancouver. There are three highly rated practices near your apartment—"
"Mom. We're eight weeks pregnant. We have time to find a pediatrician."
"You need to start interviewing them now! The good ones fill up fast!"
Diane nodded. "Susan's right. I called four pediatricians when I was pregnant with Crew and three had six-month waiting lists."
"That was thirty years ago in rural Minnesota," Crew pointed out.
"Principles still apply. You need to plan ahead."
Our mothers spent the rest of lunch planning our baby's entire first year. Pediatricians. Daycares. Baby-proofing strategies. Sleep training methods. By the time we left, they had a shared Google Doc with color-coded sections.
"They're going to be insufferable for eight months, aren't they?" Crew said as we drove home.
"They're going to be helpful and loving and slightly overbearing. That's what grandmothers do."
"I'm not ready for this. The baby. The planning. The responsibility. All of it."
"Nobody's ever ready. We just figure it out as we go."
"That's terrifying."
"That's parenting."
That night, after our mothers went to their hotel, Crew and I lay in bed listening to the heartbeat recording Dr. Yoon had given us.
Thump-thump-thump-thump. Fast and strong and impossibly real.
"That's our kid," Crew whispered.
"That's our kid," I agreed.
"We're going to be okay. Right? All three of us?"
"We're going to be okay. Terrified and messy and figuring it out as we go. But okay."
He kissed me, soft and certain. "I love you. And I love that blob."
"I love you too. Both of you."
We fell asleep to the sound of that tiny heartbeat, both of us knowing that everything had changed.
That we weren't just Crew and Harper anymore.
We were becoming parents.