So here we are, exactly twice as far along as the last time I posted. Which, given the name of the blog, seems fairly apropos.
At this stage, to be honest, there doesn’t really appear to be all that much for an expectant father to do, apart from be supportive and put up with the odd mood swing. But mostly I feel envious. I mean, I get it, some of the changing/swelling/hormones/etc are frustrating, but they’re all part of the experience I won’t get to feel for myself, other than vicariously.
One day, I’ll get to be a full participant. I’ll have equal shares in bodily fluids and housework and chores, and the joys of sprog-rearing, but for now I’m a spectator.
Is it weird to be envious of physical discomfort? Maybe. But I am, dammit. That’s only going to get worse when Candice gets to feel movement and I don’t.
Candice, for her part, is remarkably stoic and tries hard to stay balanced and all. First trimesters are supposed to be the hardest part, so I’m certain she’s done a lot of grinning and bearing. Sometimes I’m only peripherally aware of the turmoil under the surface, like far off thunder that may just be a summer storm but may turn out to be Katrina’s evil sister. So far, chez moi has been spared all but the lightest floods.
One thing I am happy to be able to share in, albeit from a short remove, is the scans. The next one is in a week’s time, and may – just may – reveal gender, but it is a long shot. Regardless, the technology involved is just fascinating. Huge machine with buttons and screens and whatnot – obviously designed to be used while gloved up, so the buttons look hilariously toy-like sometimes. But to think that a couple of generations ago parents didn’t even know they were carrying twins until the second one emerged, much less tracking the fetus’ mm by mm development and spying on their internal somersaults and eavesdropping on their heartbeats. I half expect to see one of them giving me the finger and the other holding a “DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER” placard next time. But seriously, if you haven’t seen this stuff in action and you ever get the chance to, do. Medicine and technology are two of my pet topics, and this prenatal stuff never fails to blow my mind.
We watched a disappointing documentary the other day about fetal development, too. So inspiring I’ve completely forgotten its title, but it was narrated by a desperately soppy Courteney Cox who earnestly informed us that the sperm that fertilises the egg is the one that demonstrates the _strength_ and _will_ to win the race. Vomit. It did manage to sneak in a couple of interesting bits, but mostly it was just drowning in cutesy well-meaning. Apparently the NatGeo “Life Before Birth” one is better – will give that a shot soon.