EDITOR’S NOTE: This article was first published this past July. I’m reposting it in joyful anticipation of Game 3 in Philly. Go Yanks!. (Here’s Part 1).
It was the Spring of 2006. I had accompanied my wife to the OB-Gyn’s office for a visit. An ultrasound had been scheduled along with the regular check up. We had been told that it might be possible, at that stage in my wife’s pregnancy, to discover our baby’s gender. The technician told us that a lot depended on baby’s position and his or her willingness to cooperate.
It’s impossible not to be awed by the incredible sight of your developing baby. Especially when you add to the improbability of it all, the fact that you and your partner were in near-fatal –and separate — car accidents. Surviving those had been, in itself, a miracle. A previous miscarriage made the moment terrifying and mystical at the same time.
The technician is describing what we’re seeing on the monitor in the same monotone cadence of a tour guide that’s seen the same sights hundreds of times:
“And here is the male genitalia,” she says.
“Honey!” my wife yelled.
“What?”
“She just told us it’s a boy!”
Of the torrent of emotions and thoughts that overwhelmed me at that instant, this is the one I remember most clearly:
“Will I have time to take my son to Yankee Stadium before they tear it down?” Continue reading →
Like this:
Like Loading...
Cubiyanqui 