We scheduled our first prenatal appointment just a few days after I returned from my trip. I was still jet-lagged, my sleep schedule completely out of rhythm, but none of that mattered. We were finally stepping into this together — as parents-to-be.
With the help of my uncle — a respected doctor here — we got a referral to one of the best obstetricians in the city. The only catch? Since her office was based in the hospital, her schedule could shift at a moment’s notice depending on emergencies. That day, we waited over an hour and a half. But we didn’t mind. We were nervous, excited, overwhelmed — all tangled up in the surreal reality of it all.
When she finally called us in, we introduced ourselves and shared everything D had been going through — the nausea, the fatigue, the unexpected bleeding. The doctor listened with calm reassurance, explaining what was happening to D’s body, what to expect in the weeks ahead, and how normal some of these early struggles were.
Then came the moment we’d both been waiting for.
D lay back on the table, the cool gel spreading across her belly. The ultrasound wand glided over her skin — center, bottom, top, left, right — until the doctor paused.
She looked at us and asked gently, “Is this your first ultrasound?”
We nodded in unison. Yes. Our very first visit. I’d been traveling when she first suspected the pregnancy, and this was the first time we could come in together.
She smiled slightly, then focused the screen on one side of her abdomen.
“This,” she said, “is baby one.”
We blinked.
“Baby one?”
She shifted the wand slightly to the other side.
“And this… is baby two.”
They were in separate sacs — fraternal twins. Two heartbeats. Two lives growing inside her.
I felt like the ground beneath me had softened, like everything I had been carrying — the doubts, the tension, the uncertainty — simply melted away.
Twins. At 40 years old, I had stopped thinking I’d ever become a father at all. And now, somehow, I was going to have two children. A dream I hadn’t even dared to imagine fully had suddenly become real.
The doctor explained that due to the bleeding, she wanted us to check in every two weeks to monitor everything closely. And by our third visit, she gave us another surprise:
“I don’t want to get your hopes up,” she said, studying the screen, “but based on the growth and positioning… it looks like you’re having a boy and a girl.”
My heart soared. Joy bubbled up inside me like I hadn’t felt in a long time. It felt like I had won the lottery — not just in numbers, but in life.
We started talking names soon after — wanting something that honored both of our cultures. An Arabic first name, a Latin American middle name — a bridge between where we came from and the future we were building.
For the first time in a while, we were making decisions together again. Planning. Dreaming.
It felt like we were becoming a family.
BPD Chronicles 