We saw you the other day. It’s become one of my favorite things. A black and white film of shadows, now more recognizable than ever. Long limbs akimbo, a strong jaw line, tiny fingers and toes; it’s like you are a real person now, when before you were just a shape, moving erratically.
You’re still moving, all the time. Jumping and stretching, playing soccer with an imaginary ball, wiggling your toes and fingers, even spinning in circles. The ultrasound tech laughed and told me that I was “in for it”, and she had “never seen a kid move this much”. I guess you are a lot like me that way.
A green light, so we told a few more people — those who hadn’t already noticed my little pot belly. And in six months you will live here with us. You’re becoming more real to me now, and I’m beginning to think of the practical things which need to be addressed: a baby’s room, child locks on cupboards and drawers, and getting the fireplace and kitchen counters finished before the months of sleeplessness which I know will come, just in the dark and constant rain of winter.
I used to hope you were a boy some days, a girl others. Now I just hope you are happy. That you enjoy running down muddy trails with me when you’re a little older. That you like campfires, and big dogs, and playing in the garden with the sun warming your shoulders. Maybe someday, if you ever stop moving, we’ll know whether to call you our son or our daughter. Either way, I know we’ll get along just fine.
After we left the doctor’s office (which always smells of iron and cleaning fluid to me), I spent the rest of the day grinning like a fool. As I always do with these visits. I wish I could see you every day, instead of just once a month. Thanks for letting me know you’re there.