Today I had my 16 week appointment. Our little bathing beauty was skinny dipping the day away and growing and developing like the creature of genius he or she inevitably is. Besides this baby being a standout in the areas of heartbeat, crown to rump length, and leg wiggletude, it has apparently inherited my sense of humor. How do I know this? Well, I haven't been much a drinker since that one banner year in college, and even that was tempered by budget and my love of sleep. Pre-pregnancy, I only had a drink maybe once a month or so. So, naturally, the cosmic joke is that two of my biggest pregnancy cravings have been for beer and margaritas. You are a funny one, baby Locke! I know some people say that pregnant women can have the occasional glass of wine and blah, blah, blah, but those people don't realize that just last night I had a dream that I was forced to get a sonogram in front of an auditorium of people while laying on a card table, being judged on my growing baby. Um, I'll have water, please. Craig bought me some non-alcholic margarita mix, which I've sheepishly sipped over ice, and the beer jones I just overlook. As should you.
We read online that the baby can hear now and that if you sing to it in the womb, the baby may remember the song after birth. After that, Craig told me I need to watch my mouth more and started singing Rock You Like a Hurricane to my stomach. Nothing like impending fatherhood to make a man realize his priorities and discover a liking for Scorpions. Story as old as time.
We are scheduled to go in again in about two weeks to (hopefully) find out the sex. We've been holding off on nailing down names until then, but a few have been suggested. Here's a brief list:
*Matt Locke
*Inter Locke
*Pad Locke
*Rusty Locke
*War Locke
The jury is still out.
