There is a scene from the movie Alien where the crew of a spaceship are in the dining room calmly eating dinner when one of the crew members starts to thrash about before hurling himself onto the table. The others look on in horror as the poor man clutches at his stomach, which is starting to pooch out. The alien bursts out of the guy's belly, takes in the horrified people, gives a menacing screech, and bolts from the room.
More and more, Jenn is feeling our baby kick, push, and move around in her belly. I haven't personally felt little Celia/Zinnia/other move yet and am a little glad for it. The concept will take me some time to get used to. To state the obvious, my wife has a little human being inside of her. INSIDE OF HER! Not sitting in a stroller, mind you, or holding her hand, but actually in her body. I get a little claustrophobic just thinking about it, which may or may not reflect issues from my own childhood. One of my earliest memories was doing The Big Push Away of my own mother, a person from whom I literally couldn't get enough distance. So naturally, knowing that a human being--our future daughter--is inside of Jenn, can't help but remind me that I too was once inside (read in air quotes) somebody, and that this somebody was pretty much the last somebody from whom I would like to have emerged.
Thus, when Jenn talks about us eventually being able to see a little hand or foot pushing out from the inside of her belly, I sometimes imagine the above movie scene and even act it out. I place the back of my hand on Jenn's pregnant belly, make a few gasping sounds and then thrust my arm in the air as if bursting from her stomach. With bent wrist to form the alien's head, my fist rotates around looking for someone to attack. The alien sees me and lunges for my throat. Nooooooooooo!
End scene.
Jenn, of course, rolls her eyes--she does this a lot--and reminds me gently that no, that's not how it's going to be. Now if one wanted to get analytical, perhaps one would make the leap that this image of an alien bursting through my wife's belly reflects some deeper, darker parts of myself; shadow material from my unconscious, no doubt, that reflects how I truly feel about having a baby. Perhaps it demonstrates how much I've repressed my own inner child over the years, and now, like a great, bloody Rorschach test, I take the disowned parts of myself, parts that I don't want to admit originated from that somebody mentioned above, and project them upon the sweet, lovely, innocent alien seahorse currently residing in Jenn's womb.
Good thing I don't buy into all of that Freudian crap. (Which reminds me of a Far Side cartoon: Sigmund Freud is diving into second base during a baseball game. The caption reads: "A Freudian Slide.")
So yes, Jenn has a baby human inside of her, and to my surprise, the anticipation I feel at meeting our little daughter grows daily. I look forward to laughing with little Celia/Zinnia/other and showing her the world from the confines of her stroller. I can't wait to dress her up in cute little outfits and tickle her under the chin to make her giggle. And I will offer Jenn moral support while she changes yet another of CZO's diapers or soothes our little jewel in those middle-of-the-night hours when our baby won't stop crying. At meal times, I will hand Jenn a damp sponge to clean-up CZO's messes and offer her helpful suggestions like, "Here, this spatula would be much more efficient to scrape the spaghetti off the walls." And in those moments when Jenn has reached wit's end because she has spent every waking hour with our adorable cherub (who was up much of the night teething), I will soothe my wife with my patented guided visualization voice (TM) to calm her when sleep deprivation has made her -- how shall I put this -- a little snappy. And at the end of the day, little CZO will fall asleep on my chest amidst a sea of coos and baby's breath, and I will look on my beautiful daughter and exhausted wife and feel the fruits of my labor.
I'm going to be the world's greatest dad.
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