Today we finally had Ethan’s ultrasound.

This appointment was originally scheduled for yesterday, but with all the Texas storms and weather this week, it was canceled. After noticing some changes in how his heartbeat had sounded over the last several days, the delay felt heavier than usual. I went into today just wanting to see him wanting reassurance while also bracing myself for whatever news we might receive.

Most of our ultrasounds haven’t been easy to process. With all of Ethan’s health complications, they are often filled with reminders of what isn’t developing as it should, or where growth seems limited. I’ve learned to walk into those rooms guarded, preparing my heart for the hard things and trying to stay steady.

But today was unexpectedly different.

As the ultrasound began, Ethan surprised us. He was practicing breathing, taking in fluid, and at one point we could even see his little tongue moving. It felt so ordinary and yet nothing about this pregnancy has been ordinary. Seeing him do something so natural caught me completely off guard in the best way.

Then there was a moment that completely undid me. For weeks, Ethan’s legs have been drawn tightly up toward his chest because of how twisted his spine is, and we’ve been told he doesn’t really have control over them. Today, his legs were free, no longer pressed up, no longer restricted in the same way. They were free to move and to kick as much as God would allow him. And then, one of his tiny feet moved.

It felt like such a gift to witness, to see his little legs, to see movement, to see life unfolding in a way that felt so normal in the middle of a journey that has been anything but. In that moment, he wasn’t a diagnosis or a list of complications. He was just a baby growing, gaining weight, and reaching milestones in his own little way. I couldn’t help but cry tears of joy.

There was also conversation again about his heart. Medically, the team won’t call it a heart with chambers the way they normally would. But we know his Creator is the One who formed him and sustains him. God continues to shine, not only to us, but even to the amazement of the medical team. What they can’t fully explain, we place in His hands. Every beat, every moment, is a reminder that Ethan’s life is held by God, not by medical definitions.

Afterward, talking with the doctor, she shared that many cases like Ethan’s aren’t often seen or experienced this far along, because so many families end up terminating earlier on. She told us that, given everything they were seeing, he looked like he was doing really well for his circumstances. Hearing that was both encouraging and humbling, and it made today feel even more sacred.

This is my time with Ethan.

Getting to see him today, to watch him move, and to witness these small but powerful moments filled me with overwhelming happiness, even in the middle of such a hard reality. We know the outcome has not changed, and the road ahead remains uncertain. But today was a reminder that joy and grief can exist side by side, and that every moment we are given with Ethan is a gift.

Today, I’m holding onto that.