My wife is carrying a soccer player around. (Or maybe a dancer – we’re open minded.)
At least that’s what I hope – this kid’s beating the shit out of Mommy. He better calm down when he’s born, or else get rich and famous off those kickers.
The funny thing is, we both love it. For a while there, despite the visible bump, it was difficult for me (as it is for most men) to really wrap my head around reality of a human being growing inside my wife. There was a certain disconnect – she felt her body immediately begin to change rapidly, while I spent several months stuck on “Holy shit, is this for real???”
But starting with that first kick – to my face, actually, about a month ago – any doubt went out the window. Something is going on in there, and at this point, it better be a baby. The alternatives would be seriously weird.
These days, little dude hardly ever stops dancing. As soon as Wifey sits still he perks up; she places my hand on the right spot and I can feel him. Is that an arm? A leg? His tush? I don’t even care – all that matters is that he’s my baby, and he’s real.