The Mysteries

Peter was a fat baby. His neck morphed into his shoulders in the most delicious way, and he looks like he had trouble propping himself up with all that head weight. I was the skinniest - all limbs, no fat, and also quite orange, thanks to my obsession with pureed squash and carrots. We keep saying we're hoping for a nice average sized one, but there's also a selfish desire to see ourselves more fully in the baby. Not a combination, but a big pudgy baby, or one that's long and all stretched that either of us could point to and say, "Yes, I was just like that."

I get irrationally annoyed by other people's hiccups, but I feel just as bad when I have them myself. Now the baby gets them, and I'm certainly not annoyed, but I wonder if it's driving itself crazy in there with all those rhythmic jerks that go on for long stretches in the middle of the night. No water to sip, no giant breaths of air to gulp and hold inside until they pass.

Most nights before falling asleep, I have a giant hypnic jerk that shakes the bed. Most days, and sometimes multiple times a day, my whole belly moves in a quick spastic shudder. I wonder if the baby has inherited this trait and if I can see it - even now - in that magical space between wakefulness and dreams.

There are so many other mysteries, but they are too big to even wonder about. Will this person be a reader? Will they love the beach? Will they be quick to laugh, or tell great stories, or make us insane by only eating orange food? It's too much - too exciting, too terrifying - to realize that we'll soon start the long exploration hoping to uncover who this person is.