On Saturday I had another couple of moving gigs. I had more than a couple, actually, but one rescheduled and another was a no-show. (Her life imploded somehow, and she no longer had a home to store the items she bought which I was to move.) Still, the one "big" move yielded $100, so it wasn't a total bust.
My wife attended a journalism conference that whole day and night. In her former life she won a quite prestigious journalism fellowship (and keep in mind that she's a homeschooled gal with no college education--take that Ivy League!) The winners of these fellowships gather to talk about the industry and then meet for dinner at some swanky place afterward. She'd been in meetings or lectures or something all day long while I was schlepping beds and dressers and boxes of miscellaneous knick-knacks. She was worried, though, because our otherwise hyperactive little super fetus was silent and still. I took this news as more evidence that the boy will take after me--he's bored to tears with meetings and conferences, too.
That night we collapsed into bed, exhausted but fulfilled after a hard day's work. Still, she was mildly concerned that the little guy hadn't kept up with his very predictable schedule of bladder-punching and kidney-jumping.
I willed myself back from the brink of unconsciousness and shimmied down the sheets to her now unquestionably pregnant belly, whereupon I mashed my face into it.
"What's up, little guy?" I cooed. "Whatcha doin' in there? How about if you come say 'hi' to your dad? Is everything to your liking? Did you enjoy the fois gras mommy gave you?"
Almost immedately, Grace exclaimed in shock, "He's moving! He recognizes your voice! How does that make you feel, daddy?"
I couldn't muster the words because I was already falling back into a warm, dark, cozy unconsciousness. But my heart had swollen with love to four times its normal size...
My wife attended a journalism conference that whole day and night. In her former life she won a quite prestigious journalism fellowship (and keep in mind that she's a homeschooled gal with no college education--take that Ivy League!) The winners of these fellowships gather to talk about the industry and then meet for dinner at some swanky place afterward. She'd been in meetings or lectures or something all day long while I was schlepping beds and dressers and boxes of miscellaneous knick-knacks. She was worried, though, because our otherwise hyperactive little super fetus was silent and still. I took this news as more evidence that the boy will take after me--he's bored to tears with meetings and conferences, too.
That night we collapsed into bed, exhausted but fulfilled after a hard day's work. Still, she was mildly concerned that the little guy hadn't kept up with his very predictable schedule of bladder-punching and kidney-jumping.
I willed myself back from the brink of unconsciousness and shimmied down the sheets to her now unquestionably pregnant belly, whereupon I mashed my face into it.
"What's up, little guy?" I cooed. "Whatcha doin' in there? How about if you come say 'hi' to your dad? Is everything to your liking? Did you enjoy the fois gras mommy gave you?"
Almost immedately, Grace exclaimed in shock, "He's moving! He recognizes your voice! How does that make you feel, daddy?"
I couldn't muster the words because I was already falling back into a warm, dark, cozy unconsciousness. But my heart had swollen with love to four times its normal size...
(Picture by Michael D. O'Brien)
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