Organs are in motion in the tiny fetus, and in my wife’s body.  My organs don’t move.  There is no physical  sensation of change for me, but change is happening.

I changed jobs this week.  I am now the official coffee sales person for Bean & Leaf coffee.  Perhaps with perfectly roasted coffee beans I can secure a future for my offspring.  I haven’t been this excited about work in a long time.

Our gravity is changing, too.  I can feel our new orbits around each other, Lu and I, with the added weight of our child shifting the locus of our eager attention.

The weather is changing.  Spring is only 2 weeks away.  Clocks soon transform the evening into long lingering afternoons.   We are already walking more but that is impossible tonight, because the Gulf of Mexico is dumping rain on the Northeast, courtesy of the jetstream.

The rooms of our apartment will change.

To say our habits and rhythms will change is a gross understatement of the magnitude of schedule-obliteration that this newborn will bring.  Luckily both me and Lu always keep a little bit of chaos in our hearts.  We are not afraid of mess and noise.

There is a shifting shape and an elemental color that exists in my mind when I think of our unborn.  It is not the eyeslaughscent of my wife.  It is not the facevoiceskin of my mother.  The mental image I form when I think of the baby growing in Lu’s womb is of a completely different nature than those that I have for my friends and family around me.  I see their expressions and motions, hear their laughs, sense their words.  I know them.

But I do not know my child yet.  What I see is the potential of that presence.  And when I see that, when I sense that, I feel my soul pour right out of me into that presence-soon-to-be, and it feels incredible.  I’m certain that will never change, even when I know the scenteyesmile of our child, in my arms.