I slipped on the stairs yesterday around 11 am & hurt my lower back. Initially I felt fine and the baby was be-bopping around so the nurse I called said not to worry, but to hydrate & rest.

But later that evening, for six hours I felt almost no movement at all. I rubbed oil on my belly in my nightly ritual, and Basil curled his large, warm palms there and talked to the baby. Usually, the baby responds to both of us, but this time there was nothing. I called the doctor and she asked us to come in immediately for a doppler/ultrasound to make sure everything was OK.

It was so surreal being in the same hospital where I’d been admitted for my many exacerbations over the past 6 years, but being there for a different, though still frightening, reason this time.

They did the Doppler soon after we got there in the middle of the night, and the heartbeat was strong so I relaxed a bit after hearing the soothing whoosh-whoosh, and watched Basil’s face melt as he heard it for the first time. But then they took a good 1.5 hours to come back for the ultrasound.

While waiting, I thought about how this was our first experience of being parents, and of being fearful for our child. The pregnancy has been a joy so far alhamdolillah, but last night made me think of the responsibilities coming our way too. It made me remember all of those nights that our parents stayed up with us when we were sick, or took us to the hospital for emergencies and how they must have felt, hearts in throats, every fiber of their beings praying for their child to be well.

The doctor finally came in to do the ultrasound and seeing Bean on the screen and knowing s/he was OK, I was flooded with relief and gratitude to God. She tried to get Bean’s profile shot but, as usual, the lil rascal covered his/her face and scrunched away. So she printed out ultrasound shots of the legs and arms instead, and holding those I was overcome by tenderness at their skinny, tiny, fragile perfection, subhan’Allah.

This little being, at 24 weeks old already has my heart and soul wound around his/her tiny finger. Those two hours at the hospital last night were a small taste of what it means to be a parent, to forever have a part of your heart walking around outside your body, so beautiful, independent, and yet vulnerable at the same time.

It filled me with gratitude for all those nights and days of sweet tender care that our parents provided for us growing up (and continue to provide even now),  that will enable both of us to provide for our child in turn, insh’Allah.

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