In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Happy Happy Joy Joy.”
You would be surprised to be sitting in a room where the temperature is in the mid 60’s and they are asking you to remove portions of clothes. The hallway we had been sitting in had been quite comfortable, even though we were the only ones waiting for the appointment. The nervousness of sitting in that hospital was something completely different from any other time I had spent in one. December 19th, 2013 the day they had slated for us to get better, more high resolution pictures of our child.
Dad’s can only sit there and take in the sights and sounds around them. There’s very little for us to do. Sit in the chair and turn towards the monitor. The entire time hoping that everything was going to be alright. Ten fingers, ten toes and what was to be the beginning of a nose. As alliterative as that sounds, that was all I was hoping for. The baby’s gender was already chosen, nothing was going to change that; but they might be able to tell us what to expect.
It was everything you imagine and more, and it made me weak in the everything. On this simple 20 inch monitor was a picture that is so ingrained on my mind I could draw it from memory today if someone asked. Everything was right where is was supposed to be, and then the young lady who was working so diligently to get the best angles turned to inquire if we wanted to know the sex. Of course I did, Whitney wasn’t so sure; but we knew it was something else to help plan for the future.
When I heard the words, a little girl; the tears were already in my eyes. Boy or girl, they would have been there; but my heart secretly wanted a little girl. Even while I’m relaying this story, my eyes are completely welled up with the memory. Thoughts of little dresses, scared notions of little boys who would be too close, but most of all just the idea that I had helped to create this perfect little life -it’s okay to cry guys. We’re human, and no man can say he isn’t a mess when he learns he has a daughter. Times have changed, technology lets us in on the mystery a little sooner.
I just sat there holding Whitney’s hand and couldn’t talk.
I’ve shed plenty of tears in the months since we lost her, and more later when we couldn’t work things out. But for that day and the months that followed before it all went away, I was walking on clouds, standing a little taller [and at 6’4″ that’s tall enough!]
That was the last time I know I was happy. With everything else going on with me there are times when the medications they give me have placed some holes in my memory. Things I don’t recall as quickly as I used to. But every time some doctor has told me to look at the picture on my iPad, it brings me right back to that day. It was a good day!