The first time your mom felt you move happened on April Fools' Day. No joke.
We sat in a Mexican restaurant finishing our food when she fell into her trance — what looked like one, anyway. Someday you'll learn about the phrase "1,000-yard stare." It means that your eyeballs look like they're frozen and unfocused. It was like we were inside a TV set and someone had hit pause, but just for her sight.
"Are you all right?" I asked.
Un-pause. A grin stirred on her lips; mischievous, the smile of a rookie poker player who got dealt a straight flush on her first hand.
She told me she thought she felt you move, couldn't tell but was pretty sure. Adrenaline mines ignited in my veins and turned my breaths into post-marathon oxygen gulps. I leaned in and asked her what she felt. It wasn't stomach-related, she said. More like she had a tiny piano in there and someone had just fluttered the keys for a few seconds.
Could be the baby, she said. Could be.
Moments like these are key to understanding your mom and I. She's practical and logical. I'm 30 and read comic books. She said maybe, maybe not. I said absolutely. It was you, kicking and creating little in-utero tsunamis. I can't wait until you're old enough to tell her I was right.
It's odd to think someone who's currently the size of a coffee mug created such a sensation, that a likely flutter from a pea-sized hand can remind you that you're powerless.
There's a Green Lantern story called "Secret Origin" that tells of ring-slinger Hal Jordan's beginnings in the days before he joined the Green Lantern Corps.
"I was Captain Hal Jordan," he says at one point. "Now I was just Hal Jordan."
Yes, great power yields great responsibility, but great responsibility tends to weaken at first glance. Here, life says, you're in charge of this important facet. Don't screw it up.
So what do your mom and I do until that day comes? Prepare as best we can. We bought you your first books last weekend. Your mom found them in a couple different used bookstores on the Oregon Coast: some Winnie the Pooh stories and "The Very Hungry Caterpillar." The latter is a story about a tiny, quiet creature that eats a lot, wraps itself in a cloak of warmth and emerges as a butterfly.
We've also got the baby bath and are starting to amass some all-too-tiny clothes. Among them are a three-pack of Green Bay Packers onesies and some Denver Broncos pacifiers. I imagine one of the biggest divides in our house in the coming years will be over your NFL loyalty.
Joke's on us if you don't care either way. That may be healthier for everyone.
Not that I haven't gone completely delusional in the midst of all this planning. I understand you're going to shatter any and all preparatory steps we take, a bull in a best-laid-plans china shop. Still, we'll keep it up, I think. At least a couple of our safeguards have to stay standing.
I hope all this hasn't swayed you from future movement. That will never be my intention. Never stop dancing, Bethany. Never stop cartwheeling, somersaulting, running. I'll chase you as far as I can when you get here.
"When you get here." Man, no four words have ever brought quite so big a smile to my face. I can't believe I get to tell you all this in just a few months.
Then again, I likely won't be able to say anything at all.
Reach reporter Ryan Pfeil at 541-776-4468 or firstname.lastname@example.org.