Thursday, May 31, 2012

The Picture

The picture above means absolutely nothing.

Unless you're a radiology tech and you've spent your best years slipping out of study groups at Miami Dade College to catch Heat games.

Or you have a fetish for cute button noses.

That's one there. At the top. And yes, those are lips.   He'll grow into them.

You are looking at my son.

Or at least, that's what we thought he was a few days ago, before the doctor peered at the ultrasound screen during a routine check up and said, "Huh."

Previous to that, the glow on our faces when we proudly shared our offspring's gender was evident.

"We're having a boy."

Still pondering this, I wheeled my wife into the ER (Ok, we walked in. My swollen companion eased into a wheelchair. A pink lady whisked us off like Greased Lightnin' in a somewhat erratic scamper I can only describe as how a fed up Sandy would finally stop wondering "what he's doing now" and try to pin down an aging Danny Zuko at a Rydell High fifty year reunion).

We were on our way to the exciting stress test.

Having the presence of mind to both dart and maintain casual conversation, the friendly old gal asked what we were having.

To which my wife responded, "A boy," and then slower, "apparently."

Apparently. My son's Jewel of the Riviera had been reduced to apparently. Ugh.

I was duly worried. If not for the hundreds of little johnny monkey onesies and overalls or the prince charming monikers, then for the massive blog project I had just aptly, geniusly, titled "My Son's First Bible."

We were only there for the stress test, but I'll admit it:  I had already written half of the conciliatory blog post in my mind. It was as though I could see the writing on the wall. I would self-dub it as the most epic turnaround in the history of the internet. I would announce that, after a second ultrasound, we have discovered my boy conclusively produces far more estrogen than testosterone. He has an affinity for chocolate and synchronized swimming. And he has no willy.

The next day we found ourselves sitting in front of a screen, observing the real thing. The second ultrasound. With the radiology tech.

I readied myself to welcome my little "it" into the world.

After a routine check of all the extraneous parts, ie. kidneys, stomach, brain, and heart, the tech got down to business.

She waved her slightly gooey magic wand and peered at the screen.

Then, for what could only be the purpose of exacting excruciating cruelty on me, she called for a bathroom break.

I waited helplessly as the love of my life waddled away.

My wife and I love this process. It's crazy and hectic. It's unreal and surreal and at times a little nightmarish.

And on just the other side of it, I see our family.

The picture above means absolutely nothing.

Unless you're a radiology tech.

But it means the world to a father who can breathe a little easier about monkey pajamas.

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