"It might be a bit cold,"

The sonographer isn't wrong. The jelly feels like ice on my stomach. I can't look at the screen, instead I stare up at the ceiling. The closer Michael and I have got to this day, the more anxious I have been. I didn't sleep a wink last night, thinking of all the possible scenarios that could play out today. Those dreaded words. Anything that could be wrong with my child. That perhaps I'm not even pregnant and the tests were wrong. Shit, my anxiety about today has been that bad I couldn't get the image of me and Michael trapped in an upside-down car out of my mind for two hours last night. I never saw my last two children on screen, both having passed very early on. This whole experience is new for me. And Michael of course.

He's sat in the corner, staring at the sonographer, a look of worry on his face. He's slept less than I have these last two days. I've heard him pacing our home at god knows what time of the morning, found him with his head on the kitchen table snoring, a pool of drool beneath him on more than one occasion. He's fiddling with his wedding ring. I remember a time when he hated that I did the same when I was nervous. It's quite sweet really that the habit has found its way into his subconscious. I reach a hand out to him, but he doesn't notice. He's too busy staring at the screen. Then I hear it. A strange whooshing sound. My head turns quicker than I thought possible. Is that it? Is that my baby? Oh my god. A white miniature human bounces on the screen, a hand outstretched. I sob. I don't know why I'm crying, but I can't stop. I shake uncontrollably. It's real. My baby is real. And they're alive. God they're still alive. I don't think I've ever been so thankful in my life. The sonographer smiles at me as she hands three images, each a different image of my child.

I stare at the pictures in my hand, stroking the little face with my thumb. I can't believe we made this tiny life. Michael is stood next to me now, holding my side and sobbing too. In this moment everything feels perfect. Feels right. Just the three of us, ready to start a new life together.

But looking at the picture, one thing cannot escape my mind. What if this child is not Michael's? What if I'm carrying Andrew's baby? What would I do then?