beating hearts

Houston, we have a heartbeat. A day shy of 12 weeks, a clear, strong staccato rhythm thumping away inside of A. My eyes moistened, tears streamed down her cheeks. It’s really real. They all say that, “the heartbeat makes it real”. No kidding. It’s a real baby, not all the other rare things we’ve heard of (molar pregnancy, blighted ovum, psychological pregnancy). I am torn between heavier feelings and elation. A heartbeat!! Oh boy, a heartbeat. It’s hard to explain. The road forward, though full of unknowns, is clear. Now I only need to chose to walk it. Or wheel the proverbial pram before me. Or drive our whole life on a flat-bed truck. In the waiting room there was a book for “dads” on how to prepare to become such. No chapter for me alas, but I was in a willing mood to play along and adapt the language as I go. Of course, it’s not “proof” that I “work properly”, nor do I harbor a fear that it’s not “mine”. I do feel like something about me works properly though to have helped facilitate it happening, like my relationship with the universe, actions I’ve taken for me and for us, the insane research. And whether it’s “mine”, well, there’s the rub. I do feel like I helped create this life. And it is undoubtedly legally mine, thanks Ontario! It doesn’t have my blood or bones, nor does it hear my voice from within or is lulled by my veins’ whooshing lullabies. It does however have my love, my wanting. And watch out world if it has my spirit, as my parents cursed when I was young, “I hope you have a kid just like you!” Well, I hope our kid is as lucky as I’ve been (or luckier!). What a good rich life. Though it has had hard parts, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

E