Ultrasound

The anxiety we felt waiting in the hot, crowded waiting room was overwhelming. Was our baby healthy? Was it still alive? Does it have lady parts or boy parts? We must know now! Anxiety makes Adam crabby. Crabby Adam and Andrea don’t get along very well.

Yeah, things were a little tense.

Luckily, we didn’t have to have wait long. Just a few minutes after checking in the ultrasound technician called Andrea’s name.

We walked into the dark room and Andrea sat on the table. I sat next to her, held her hand tightly, and positioned myself for an unobstructed view of the screen. The technician, bless her heart, got straight to work. She asked if we wanted to know the sex. Of course, we said.

Just seconds later, the tech had the baby in her sights. I was amazed by the beauty on the screen; gray and black outlines of limbs and human features flickered before us. I think I see a hand! A head! There’s a thigh!

“You have a little boy,” she said just a few seconds after starting. Holy cow! She’s right! That’s his wing-wong!

Then we saw the heart, all four chambers working in unison, beating beautifully. The kidneys were there too. His femur was the right length. His head was normal, and his spine and ribs were all there. I was thrilled that it was a boy, and I was grateful that our baby was healthy. I was also overcome with wonder and amazement imagining the processes that made this little guy.

For example, look at his foot:


For me, the beauty of this picture is imagining the complex reactions that made Merlin’s perfectly developed metatarsals and phalanges. The creation of this foot began in a single cell wherein some of my DNA and some of Andrea’s DNA fused to create a truly original code for another human being. This unique chemical code, which has never been present on the earth, was responsible for shepherding the arrangement of calcium and phosphorous from Andrea’s diet into a delicate matrix of bone that will eventually support the weight of Merlin’s body. This code was also responsible for the chemical reactions that guided the development of five toes on each foot, five fingers on each hand, and countless other differentiated body parts. It’s nothing short of awe-inspiring.

So that’s one emotion I felt during that ultrasound: awe. I couldn’t wipe the stupid look of shock off my face.

The other emotion? Absolute and unadulterated love. My heart skipped a beat every time I saw the baby move. He puckered his lips a few times and looked like he was practicing sucking, not practicing sucking like his dad sucks at basketball, but practicing how a baby gets food from the boob. I loved him for every movement he was making. During that ultrasound I wanted nothing more but to spend time with my son, do manly things with him, tell him how awesome he’s going to be, and tell him how much his parents love him.

In short, the ultrasound was incredible. I can’t wait to meet this guy.

I HAVE A SON!

It’s a boy!

*chest thump*

Boy or Girl?

Unless our little baby is shy, we’ll know the sex next Thursday at 2:00 pm. I can’t wait. People often ask what I would prefer, a boy or a girl. I have no idea.

Sometimes I prefer a little girl. The other day, Andrea and I saw the most adorable infant shirt; it said in big pink letters, “Heartbreaker.” Andrea has a pajama shirt that says the same thing. Since then, I cannot get the image of my baby girl and my wife each wearing their “heartbreaker” shirts while they pose for a picture. It would be my desktop background for life. My heart melts just thinking about it. I never thought I could be so smitten by the thought of really chubby thighs and a toothless grin!

But sometimes I want a little boy. I know boys. I grew up with them. I am one. We’re awesome. When I think about having a boy I think about the traditionally manly things we can do together: watch football, fix cars, build things with Legos, lift weights, play catch. Thinking about bonding with my little boy in that way makes me all warm inside.

My goal is to not prefer one or the other. I want to be equally thrilled by the news on Thursday. Wish us luck, and pray that little Merlin is feeling a little exhibitionist next week.

140 Beats per Minute

We had a checkup today and everything’s going great. The doctor thanked Andrea for being the “textbook perfect patient,” as opposed to the pregnant woman the doctor had just seen: a 300+ lb mother who couldn’t have her emergency c-section just yet because her fried chicken and biscuits hadn’t fully digested. Andrea is the valedictorian of pregnancy patients.

The best part of the appointment? Hearing Merlin’s heartbeat! As soon as our doctor put the doppler thingy on Andrea’s belly we heard a thundering, and fast, “swish, swish, swish, swish.” What a relief. This is only the second time we’ve heard from the baby. Andrea’s body isn’t sending us many signals that she’s pregnant, so it was nice to know that our little apple is alive and well.

In addition to a strong heartbeat, the baby’s now about the size of an orange, he’s developing his hearing this week, and he’s moving like crazy, though Andrea can’t feel that yet. I don’t know what we’ve done to deserve such a great pregnancy.

Drunk with Power

It’s a trip thinking about how much control I will soon have over another human’s life. For example, Andrea and I will choose the name another person will go by for the rest of his or her life. How crazy is that?

This ability to control another human being can be intoxicating. I can see why a person, upon realizing this nearly limitless power, might get carried away and give her children absurd “names” like Track, Trig, Bristol, Willow and Piper. But I’ve decided that naming my child is a privilege that tradition has bestowed upon me; I promise not to take it lightly.

Here are a few rules I’m going by:

• No made-up names. I just cannot justify torturing my child with the product of my very limited creativity. This includes names that have been made up by other people but have recently become popular.
• Nothing that’s too hard to pronounce. Unfortunately, since we’re not raising our kids on Iceland (dang), that means some kick-A Icelandic names like Úlfar (wolves), Þór (Thor), Björn (bear), Sigurrós (victory rose), and Brynhildur (armored warrior woman), are off the list. As awesome as those names are, I couldn’t put my American child through the countless mispronunciations and questions.
• Nothing that’s too popular right now. I just don’t want my kid to be one of 20 “Emmas” (or whatever) in her class.
• No classic names with whacked-out spellings à la Utah culture. ”Christopher” will not become “Krystuhfur,” and “Elizabeth” will not become “Illizuhbeth”

That’s it. Shouldn’t be too hard to get a name from those criteria, right?

What might have been

Imagine this:

Firm X offers you a summer job with the intention of giving you a permanent job when you graduate from law school. You like Firm X, but you like Firm Y just a tiny bit more. So you use your offer with Firm X as leverage with Firm Y.

“Hey, Firm Y, Firm X just offered me a job. I need to let them know if I accept their offer within the week. What can you do for me?”

Firm Y responds with an offer of summer work with the intention of giving you a permanent job when you graduate from law school. You accept, regretful that you have to tell Firm X that you chose Firm Y.

At the end of the summer, Firm Y says, “Hey, you’re a great guy, but we can’t afford to offer you a job when you graduate. Good luck, and have a nice life.”

To make matters worse, your friend, an attorney at Firm X, informs you that ALL SEVEN summer associates at Firm X got permanent offers.

Desperate, you quickly contact Firm X, hoping that they’ll remember you. Firm X remembers you, but says that they’re “finished hiring.”

This is what happened to me. I try not to let it bother me. And to be honest, I don’t often think about “what might have been” had I gone with Firm X. It’s over. I have to move on. I can’t change the past. But every once in a while, I get into a sulking/raging mood and feel like yelling. At somebody. At anything. Tonight, thinking about fatherhood and looking desperately for a job, I’m in one of those sulking moods. So I’m taking it out on you, internet. Arghh.

Babies Everywhere

I notice children more frequently. I look at their faces and their mannerisms and wonder how my child is going to act. What kind of personality is he or she going to have, and to what degree will I influence that personality? And if I do have a big influence on this kid’s personality, what if I turn him or her into a jerk? A big anti-social dummy? That’s a lot of responsibility. So that’s the question. How do I prevent my kid from being a dork? Some things I will be sure to teach little Merlin(da) in no particular order:

• To not write a check in the grocery store check-out line when people are behind you. It’s terribly annoying.
• To not be a know-it-all like his or her dad. People hate that.
• To read lots of good books.
• To listen to lots of good music.
• To wear comfortable shoes.
• To drive in the snow
• To not be impatient and irritated with the old lady writing a check in the grocery store check-out line.

That ought to do it for now. Just succeeding at half of these things would make Merlin(da) a terrific person!