It's a bird, it's a plane, no...

It's Superman flying over the citizens of Metropolis...

This year, my neighbor and I made Jude a little Superman costume. Mike and I were, ostensibly, Ma and Pa Kent, although our dressing up efforts were minimal at best. Jude had his four month appointment this last week and the pediatrician did some strength tests on him and declared with surprise, "This guy is as strong as a six month old!!!" I muttered under my breath, "Well, yeah, he IS going to be Superman for Halloween."

I'm in Love

Oh, my heart!

Crane Kick

Last night after dinner, Mike and I were sitting on our couch watching LOST, Mike's hand placed over my swelling belly. For weeks now I have grabbed Mike's hand to feel the baby move, only for the babe to settle back into inactivity after a single round-house kick ("Take that, mom! Wham!"). Mike would place hand over belly button, feeling, waiting. And nothing. I'm not sure what regimen that kid is on, but he flutters constantly and then gives me a swift, fetus-sized Karate Kid "crane kick." He focuses all of his energy on that single forceful movement and then lapses back into meditation and repose. Yoga? Yota? Last night, however, Mike finally felt the baby kick, tiny foot to body-sized hand. It was final, astonishing proof that my swelling body is hiding a growing son, a wriggling, fluttering, baby boy. No Rorschach ink-blot test that was the ultrasound ("Do you see his face there?" "Uh...." "ope...therewenthislegs!!!"), no beating moniter suggesting a heart within, but a physical connection, son to father, through a thin boundary of skin.