Last time we visited the doctor (week 15), he told us that
So like any self-respecting, good-hearted, good-looking father-to-be would, I began poking
Two weeks of this poking passed and nothing. Zilch. Nada. Now I don’t remember much about being a fetus, but I’m 99-percent positive that I spent the majority of that time eating, growing and chicken dancing. In fact, I think my mom has pictures.
But this little booger hadn’t even been born yet and was already disobeying my every command. I said, “kick,” but no kick. I said “wiggle,” but no wiggle. I said, “O-H,” but no “I-O.” This kid’s greatest trait to date was the ability to stay still, be lazy and irritate me. Obviously he (or she) got those genes from his mother.
When we weren’t getting the results we wanted, we thought maybe
I was beginning to think that our kid was never going to move. Then, one fateful Wednesday afternoon while I was at work, I received an important e-mail that would brighten my mood and alter the rest of my day:
“Hey dude, did you know there are donuts in the break room?—Chuck.”
What? I really like donuts.
Anyway, later that night, when I got home, I received a call from
“I feel the baby kicking! I feel the baby kicking!”
It turns out that on her drive home from work, she casually flipped on the radio and WHAM—the baby started dancing. How did she know? For three reasons: 1) She had never felt anything like it before; 2) the movement was constant and 3) the band was Green Day—and any child of mine would choose Green Day as its first dance. Now it wasn’t all roses, as
For days I stuck to
I was grateful I got to share in that moment. I was also grateful that this excitement caused
He’d also be saying “I-O.”