Jessica and I paid a visit to the hospital this morning. It was time for Jessica's biweekly checkup and I was there as an accidental tourist. Well, of course not, I was there as a caring father-to-be, learning things and being supportive. The nurse measured Jessi's belly (and now, if you have gone through this process, you can scroll down a few paragraphs, hopefully it'll get more interesting there), checked her blood pressure and told her to eat more iron.
Meanwhile, I sat there next to my girl, playing around with a wooden
jigsaw puzzle and occasionally touching Jessica's arm to show her that I was still there.
And then it was time to see how "Hilda" was doing. I didn't wanna be appear too excited (Why not? And how could I be too excited, I now ask myself) so I remained seated by the nurse's desk, trying to read her little notes upside down. The jigsaw puzzle didn't interest me anymore.
(And now all you mothers and fathers, it would be a good time to start reading again).
And then I hear it. THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP. It was like a clock on speed, or the sound your hand makes when you tap your fingers against your desk when you're nervous. It could have been a hockey crowd clapping their hands in unison. But it wasn't.
It was the sound of our baby's heart beating.
I jumped up from my chair and saw Jessica lying on a bed, smiling.
And I decided that today I wouldn't even try to come up with a name for our baby. It doesn't matter what we eventually call her, it really doesn't. She'll be our baby.
