At first, the whole becoming-a-dad thing didn’t quite move beyond mere abstraction in my head. I mean, I knew objectively that things were in motion that would eventually result in a newborn infant to call our very own, but I hadn’t really wrapped my head around it. (Dr. Girlfriend didn’t even have a noticeable baby bump yet.)
Things change quickly, though. After all, if everything goes well, a pregnancy only lasts nine months, give or take.
So one fine morning, we headed to the hospital to have the ultrasound. I was going to meet dr. Girlfriend there, so of course I got stuck in traffic, making panicked phone calls of apology between sessions of inching the car slightly forwards.
Anyway. I made it on time. We both did. And after a quick introduction, the midwife lubed up dr. Girlfriend’s belly, grabbed the stylus-like thingie and set to work.
There it – she – was. A baby girl … a daughter. Healthy too, by the looks of it, all fingers and toes accounted for, bouncing around in there, sucking on her thumb (or possibly picking her nose). At one point, a face appeared, staring right at us and I could hear the Wiener Philharmoniker strike up Also Sprach Zarathustra in my head. It was … well, it was fucking amazing.
Ayway, in about five months, we’ll lay actual, analog eyes on her. I’m really excited. (Also somewhat terrified, but I’ve been led to understand that’s a given.)