A Million, Billion, Trillion Tiny Feelings Pt. 13

Notes from a father's first pregnancy

September 9, 2017

I felt your foot this morning. Or maybe it was your elbow? Perhaps it was a hand.

You kicked your mom right where my hand lay on her and I’ve since been searching her belly all day, not wanting to press too hard, not wanting to disturb you, but hoping desperately that you’ll find my hand, that you’ll give me a little nudge, that I can feel your existence again.

September 12, 2017

There’s an entire universe inside Emily’s fast-expanding belly. I watch my little boy, now resembling something human, on the black and white ultrasound screen, as he twists and contorts himself into as comfortable position as he can find.

He folds his legs beneath his butt. His bones, mostly cartilage, are pliable and bendy. His arms jut toward his face, his hands sit beneath his chin. He moves fast, though he doesn’t yet possess the brainpower to know what he’s doing. His life at this point is reactionary. He knows only comfort and discomfort.