“Well, that wasn’t very magical,” says my wife.
She’s right. It really wasn’t. I’m not sure what we’d been expecting, but I distinctly remember being promised magic. Everyone we’d spoken to had said the 20-week scan was going to be an amazing experience. By now our baby would look like a baby, and not like the weird grey jellybean it looked like at three months. We’d get to say hi. We’d connect with it. We’d see it wriggling around doing cool stuff, like sucking its thumb and kicking it legs; maybe some shadow puppetry against the uterus wall. It was going to be awesome. It was going to be magical.
It was going to be no such thing.