The other night our midwife came a-callin' for her latest appointment with us. It's always a pleasure having her over for our pre-baby appointments because she's such a relaxed yet engaged, intense presence.
No, no, there's candles, incense or chanting for those of you keeping score at home. These are professional (and personable) appointments with the woman who's going to birth our baby.
And the end of each visit, she always does her Mama A / Baby B check-up, including listening to the baby's heartbeat.
It's a drag on a tom tom at 140 beats per minute, daddy-o. A steady driving beat that rocks my world.
And last night Baby B's kicks and turns were so strong! It be getting' big.
Last night I dreamed I held my baby. It was a boy. Sleeping soundly in my arms. Eyes closed and calm. Breathing steady and sure. Strong tiny hand gripping my forefinger. Probably since it's man week for me, the testosterone is elevated.
We were in a large house. Both families everywhere. Suddenly I needed to run an errand, so I left my baby on a large white bed and walked away. I knew in my dream it was absurd, but I had to run that errand. My nephew Nick called after me that I shouldn't leave my baby alone.
And then I was running outside God knows where. At one point there were abandoned cars and bizarre carnival acts as I ran past. The only thing I knew was that I had to get back. I had no money, no cell phone, and everyone around me was a stranger.
I woke, my heart beating a booming triple ratamacue at 2.5 million beats per minute.
I'm never going to leave you, B. We've got a band to start and a tour to plan for.
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