Before today’s post, I need to clarify a reference in yesterday’s. I mentioned that Michael Chabon, in his book Manhood for Amateurs, speaks of the low standards set by our culture for fathers, but I neglected to point out that his essay laments this fact. The entire book is an honest and thought provoking collection of essays about growing up and what it means to be a husband, a father, and a man in America, and besides that, Chabon is one hell of a writer. Read it if you’re even remotely interested. You can borrow my copy. I was horrified when I realized that I misrepresented him.
My wife was wincing and holding on to her belly the other night. The baby was shoving every sharp edge against her insides, and it obviously hurt. I bent down and rolled up her shirt, placing my lips near her belly button, and I asked the kid to give her a break. I felt a little nudge against my mouth, and I gave a long, low hum against her skin. The pushing stopped, at least for a few moments, and we both smiled at the thought of the baby inside, suddenly quiet, eyes darting back and forth, wondering, “What was that?”
52 days until baby.