The slight improvements to which I alluded in my previous post have become significant improvements. She now suffers from very little morning sickness whatsoever, and though still experiencing some tiredness and moodswings, she’s pretty perky for the vast majority of the time.
Today was our 20-week ultrasound scan. The image on the screen was slightly harder to read, probably because there is less free space around the foetus, making it harder to detect its shape. But we saw much more detail – its spine is very clear and well-defined, and I remember well one brief moment where I could see every bone in its hand. The evidence also suggests that it will be a boy. This is a slight problem, as we have managed to come up with many superb girls’ names, but we are struggling with boys’ names at present. Ah well.
On a personal level, my role continues to consist of reassurance and lower back massages. I look forward with relish to fatherhood. I crave the challenges, the purposefulness, the augmentation of my identity, the stimulation. But then I wonder – what happens if I don’t get any of them? What happens if fatherhood turns out to be just mindlessness repetition of the same old tasks? Sure, I’ll be able to point to my achievements, and take satisfaction in a job well done, but I was hoping for a little bit of mental stimulation from this whole project as well. I suppose my only choice is to sit tight, not put all my eggs in one basket, and accept that what happens will happen. I should not abandon the search for mental stimulation elsewhere as well. It was not so long ago that I was just a kid, changing houses and jobs every few years. With so much variety, life is never dull. But now that I am settled down, this search for mental stimulation is crucial. I used to be definitely smart, but these days I’m not so sure. This must stop.
Sometimes I find myself fast-forwarding and practising conversations that are not due to happen for years and years and years. The “where did I come from?” conversation. The “can I have a computer in my room?” one. The “what does cuddy bufter mean?” one. The “you just don’t care about me, I hate you” conversation. Ah, rich tapestry of life.