“For the first time, I’ve seen his face—from yesterday’s ultra-sound,” she said, rushing into my kitchen, deep laughter roiling her three-trimester belly. Her brown eyes fired like sparklers on a hot summer night as she pointed to the films on the counter. “Look, there’s his nose, somewhat squished, but there it is. His eyes, blinking…” Then knowing hands smoothed her unborn son beneath her grey T-shirt, a loving gesture I’d experienced the last five months of receiving her help. “And just three more weeks until his due date—time for him to practice using his body before delivery. He’s all there.”

It had been an unusual five months of sharing, a vital learning experience for me. Never had I been so close to a pregnant woman as her unborn baby developed. And my helper, was also a registered nurse. Cheerfulness ballooned her spirit and countered anxiety, belly-kicks and sleepless nights, dietary changes, hydration, awkwardness, and diminished energy. Her long brunette ponytail was tied up in a knot as she prepared and served meals, looked after my bungalow, and took phone messages.

However, last night’s significant contractions warranted a trip to the hospital. My prayer for her safe delivery and son filled the night, only to be upended by this morning’s call. “I was only seven centimeters, so they sent me home. I hope to go back soon.”—Certainly a major reversal, but no complaints.

It seems to me that Hezekiah wants to see his laughing mother’s face. He will come.