ducks, taxes and death

So the image at left was attached to one of those oft-forwarded emails with a series of humorous images.  Perhaps it is because of my current tenuous status as a future father but I found it more disturbing and sad than funny and amusing.  If I were the father of ducklings (which I hope I am not), that looks like something I'd do.

Stepping back from the day to day apprehensions and waxing momentarily philosophical, I feel somehow connected to the generations that came before me.  Whereas I have in the past always identified myself as separate from my parents and grandparents (I was the child, they were not), I somehow now feel a greater connection to them.  Whereas it was always a stretch to imagine, for example, the apprehensions of my grandfather flying a B-17 over Nazi Germany in 1941, I feel absolutely in tune with the apprehensions he no doubt felt as the nine months ticked away to the birth of my father in 1946.  While there is comfort and a certain amount of pride in feeling connected to something so much larger than myself (the extension of the bloodline, continuation of the species, etc.), I also am becoming acutely aware of my own mortality.  While it may seem counter intuitive to acknowledge the certainty of death at the very moment I am to help bring new life into it, the fact that I now identify my role as that of my father and grandfather before me forces me to realize that I am no longer a child and that I too will grow old and someday die.

On a happier note, we should find out the gender of our child next week.  Can't hardly wait!

practice makes a puddle

In a continuing effort to build up my limited experience with small children, I was pleased to have the opportunity to spend some time with my niece in Arlington over the weekend. My brother was kind enough to trust me with his only child and I am proud to report no one was seriously injured. Little Chloe decided my lap was a secure enough place to take a nap and I appreciated the gesture. I even appreciated the little puddle of drool she left (on) me.

BabySagoBlog

So in our front yard there is a Sago Palm that we transplanted last year. We thought we the moving process had killed the plant but it clung to life and has recently shot up a new throw of leaves (see right). In addition to reassuring Clara and I a little bit concerning our abilities as parents, the recent development of the Sago has provided a meaningful reminder of the remarkable event that is developing in my wife's womb.

Stay with me here.

In a relatively short period of time this palm (or Cycad or whatever it technically is) started creating new life in the form of a new throw of leaves. With little or now outside help it produced tiny little shoots that in a few days developed into little embryonic leaves. Miraculously it "knew" to do this and miraculously this plant with no brain was able to create something well-formed and perfect. I can't help but see the connection to the embryonic child forming in my wife's womb, though naturally I hope it is creating little hands and feet as opposed to leaves.

In other news, Clara and I went to the doctor yesterday and the doctor reported everything is proceeding nicely. Apparently the apple-sized bundle of joy has a heartbeat of 160 bpm and as the little fruit was moving around a lot, the doctor announced "you've got a swimmer in there."

Michael Phelps, you are officially on notice.

bump ahead

So while my official policy continues to be to say "No, Clara, you don't look pregnant at all" when asked directly, a discernible bump has appeared on my wife in the last few days. It's more apparent in the evenings (I guess that's when the little guy stretches out for the night) and you'd have to be looking for it and somehow how manage to convince Clara to take her shirt off in order to see it. Still, I suppose this proves she isn't faking it after all.

In other news, while discussing the relative merits of the male versus the female body, I tried to argue for the relative merits of the male physiognomy. We can, for example, pee in the woods - a task that poses countless complications for my wife and her gender. Clara was easily able to counter this, pointing out that the life she is currently creating has itself the ability to pee anywhere it wants.