Waiting for Yekaterin

rin

  I was terrified at the thought of it being a girl. Maria knew but I’d sworn her to secrecy long before she found out, long before the torture of the wait truly kicked in. “Is it a girl? Say it’s not a girl. It’s a girl isn’t it?” Outbursts like this were not uncommon. She would simply smile, take my hand, put it on her round belly and ask “what do you think?” I’d be lying if I said I knew from the get go the it would be a she, but I had my suspicions.

  “That’s a penis, right? That’s a penis.” I would ask, pointing at the ultrasound screen. No one can actually see anything in there until it’s pointed out but I was sure I saw the tiny little smudge of manhood.
  “I don’t get it,” said the nurse to Maria, “does he want to know or..?”
  “No, he want’s it to be a surprise, don’t you dear?” she had replied with a smile, squeezing my arm, “he’s just a bit nervous.”

  Understatement. I was freaking out a little (freaking out a lot) at the prospect. The possibility. It wasn’t some age-old patriarchal desire to do ‘guy stuff’ with a son, it was the absolutely preposterous preconception that a girl was fragile. Delicate. When Rin finally arrived, kicking and screaming from the womb, I’d never seen anything stronger. Covered in blood and guts and howling for the doctors to cut the chord already, I knew she was going to bring about an entirely different roster of parental concerns. One’s we weren’t prepared for at all. 

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~ by Joseph Blame on February 4, 2011.

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