listen to the heartbeat, i dare you.

your lying on your back in a dark room with your skirt pulled up and a doctor with a camera inside you, yes, inside you. it's cold and fairly large, and you're looking at a screen of black fuzz with an ocassional white splotch.

sounds thrilling, right? right.

then the doctor begins to point things out. "this is your baby. this is your uterus. this is the sack that's feeding your baby right now until the placenta develops. and see that little fluttering? that's your baby's heart beating."

your breath is lost when you see the heartbeat. but then she turns up the volume.

thump. thump. thump. it's clear, strong and loud.

you thought you'd learned the definition of love when you met your husband, but hearing the heartbeat of something living, growing inside of you introduces you to a love that you were unable to fathom.

you cry. you can't help it.

you would already die to protect the centimeter-sized child living inside of you.

any woman who gets pregnant and isn't happy about it should reserve judgement until she hears the relentless, determined pounding of her baby's heartbeat at just seven weeks in the womb. it is the definition of a miracle.