Monday morning found me squatting on a stool in Anna’s midwife’s office waiting to listen to the heart beat of The Bean. Lisa, the midwife, entered, squirted some cold goo on Anna’s belly, and whipped out the doppler radar device (I’ve not bothered to figure out how this thing works).
Shortly after placing a part of the doppler thingy on Anna’s belly, the swusht, swusht, swusht sound of a little helicopter filled the room. I’m not kidding. He sounds like a whirly bird.
Immediately, I began to have premonitions of walking through the park holding a tether while our son hovers overhead — but not directly overhead until after he’s toilet trained. And of course, the cost of aviation gas will be a limiting factor in how much spare cash we’ll have for the next few decades…