There’s a thing inside her. I didn’t believe it. When she told me she had a thing inside her, I told her she musta got her facts wrong somehow, cause I thought someone had to’ve been playing a joke on me. But there was no joke being played, and there still isn’t. She has a thing inside her. I know she does because I am looking at it. It is on the screen and there it is, for all to see. The thing inside her. Holy crap. Wow. Oh shit. Damn. Huh.

Well, tickle my balls with a feather.

Should I be scared? Is now the time for me to be scared shitless? What’m I sposed to do, how’m I sposed to react. I mean, this is serious stuff. This ain’t no shits and giggles. This is the real deal nitty gritty brass tacks business of life. This is grownup heaviness and responsibility. She’s got a thing inside her. A thing. And if I’m sposed to be scared, then I better get scared, pronto. This thing’s only gonna get bigger. This thing’s only gonna get more and more dependent on me. (Until it doesn’t. Until it stretches out, stakes its own claim, goes about its own business independently. But that’s not for … years and years and years and years, I am told.)

Look at the thing. Look at it, I mean just … look at it. It’s just kinda … kinda sitting there. You know. Sitting there in that position they all kinda sit in. Kinda fetal but not exactly. Just kinda curled a bit, like a lima bean, sorta. A lima bean with a big gigantic head. It’s mostly head now. It’s almost entirely head.

That is the head, I’m looking at, isn’t it? The head of the thing? And the thing I’m looking at is the thing I’m sposed to be looking at and not … I dunno, some kinda other thing. Whatever else might be in a … a uterus. I dunno. Could be other things in there. But I’m looking at the right thing? That thing right there?

Then the thing is almost entirely head right now. And what’s all that black around it, is all that black around it really just … empty space in the … uterus?

Then that’s one pretty damn big … uterus, doncha think? Or is it normal size. Does the Special Lady Friend have a normal size … uterus?

(The doctor assures me it’s a normal size … uterus on the screen, then she kinda sorta more or less completely directs the rest of what she has to say to the Special Lady Friend. But that’s okay. Let ‘em talk. They’re prolly connecting on a whole ‘nother level. Woman to woman, mom to mom-to-be, smart person to smart person.)

I’m just gonna sit here staring at the screen while those two chat away about whatever. The hospital and the tests and the options and whatever happens next. They said they had to talk about something, but I wasn’t listening. (Oh, yeah, that’s something I’m gonna hafta get better at. Listening to people when they say things to me. Gonna hafta get better at list --)

Besides, all that stuff’s over my head and I’ll wrap my brain round that stuff later, and how’m I sposed to pay attention to minor details when right now, the thing that fascinates me is the thing she has inside her that I’m looking at on the sonogram screen setup. Now that I’m over the shock of seeing the Special Lady Friend prone, legs akimbo, with a wand-type doohickey, uh … ‘inserted’ up a place, (which was indeed a shock. Soon as I figured out what the doohickey was and where it was about to go, I blushed and stammered and averted my eyes til they told me it was safe to look at the screen so I could see the thing), I can tell you that the thing is bigger than I thought it’d be. It’s only a centimeter or two, tops, maybe three, but … still seems big to me. Then again, if I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand million billion times: what do I know.

And the thing is really sincerely honestly mostly head at this point. It’s like eighty percent skull-area. You can kinda sorta see the … jaw, I guess, and where the eyes will be and the nose and … well, you gotta guess where the mouth will be cause right now, it’s not readily apparent. Then there’s this fuzzy thing on the bottom of it, at the edge of the gigantic-but-supposedly-regulation-size uterus, that looks like it could be where the butt’s gonna go, but as far as limbs, the thing doesn’t seem to be growing any limbs yet, no arms or legs or hands or …

WHOA. HEY. WHOA. WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT. The thing just moved. Wow. Glad they saw it too. Glad I’m not just making up it moving like it just moved. Good. That’s a … HEY THERE IT GOES AGAIN. LOOK AT IT GO. The same kinda move, the same herky-jerky kinda …

Is that normal? The moving? I hope it’s normal, all that moving the thing’s doing. Wonder if the thing’s gonna be a spaz. That wouldn’t be terrible. To have a spaz thing running round the house causing all kindsa … spaz havoc. Least it’d keep life good and interesting. Plus, you burn a lotta calories, keeping up with a spaz. I’d be in better shape than I am now. Which ain’t saying much, but still.

The thing moved. Sure as shit didn’t expect to see it move. If I’m not careful, it’s entirely possible I just might cry. I’m close. I know I’m close. This whole thing is moving as shit, frankly. Didn’t expect to be … moved like this. Thought I was just gonna drive her downtown to the doctors, look at the thing, verify that yes, in fact, the thing is indeed a thing and that’d be that.

I’m really gonna need to prepare myself. Really gonna need to steel myself, gird my loins, sharpen my pencil. All those books the Special Lady Friend gave me to read? Seems as though I’m gonna hafta read ‘em. Damn. That’s a big stack of books, too. Four or five of ‘em. A couple hundred pages each. That’s at least a thousand pages on how to adjust to life when she’s got a thing inside her. Guy to guy advice on how to do it.

Just moved again. It just moved again. What a little mover and shaker. You go, little thing. You go.

Next time we come down here, we’ll be able to hear the heartbeat. Guess there’s some kinda microphone/speaker/radio thing where they put some kinda gizmo on her stomach (thank god I won’t hafta blush my way through another gadget getting, uh … inserted … into her), and we can hear the heartbeat going thump-thump-thumpity-thump. That oughtta be something. This right here is only looking at the thing. Listening to sound’s gonna be an altogether nother ball of wax. A horse of an entirely different …

Huh?

Hell yes, I do. Bet your ass I want one. Print it out. I’ll take that picture, keep it in my wallet or if I can figure out a way to put it on my cell phone, I’ll do that. Show it to whoever asks whenever you say it’s okay to start telling people.

You bet your bottom dollar I’m gonna be one of those guys. I’m not just gonna be one of those guys. I’m gonna be one of those guys. You know the guys. The guys who, when you ask ‘em ‘Hey, how’s it going,’ they don’t say anything, they just start fumbling round through their cell phone or wallet for pictures. It’s annoying when guys do that. Shit, at work? At work, it happens time after time after time, each and every night, practically.

But it won’t be annoying when I do it. I’ll do it so people don’t mind. I’ll do it so people’ll be interested and fascinated and want to know more, when I tell them bout our news.

When can we start telling people? How long do I hafta wait?

Shit. That long? Eight weeks is a long time, doncha think? I mean, I that’ll be like the end of May by that point. The last week of May. It’s not even gonna look like this, eight weeks from now. It’ll be bigger. Won’t it? It better be, or it’ll be the runt of the litter, except without the litter. I’ll still think it’s a pretty awesome thing, even if it turns out to be a runt. Or a spaz. Runt or not, spaz or not, small or big, boy or girl, doesn’t matter. None of that matters. It’ll still be an awesome thing. A … a baby. A … a child. My … my child.

My child.