I Love the Smell of Oranges in the Morning

Last night we heard Babby’s heartbeat for the first time. While I misted up and looked incredulously at my belly (which, miraculously, had ceased its constant rumbling as if sensing it was a special occasion), SA stared incredulously at me. I assumed he was, of course, in awe of my power as a reproductive being.

When we got outside he said,

“I swear – it sounded just like the helicopters in Apocalypse Now. Wap-wap-wap-wap-wap-wap.”
“Yes. This is true,” I acknowledged. It did.
beat
“I wonder how hard it would be to make one of those things, those Dopplers…”

I’m starting to hope the Revolution does come, and soon, because I want to laugh at all the people whose husbands don’t make things like Tivos, Dopplers and a damn fine pie from scratch. I am also reminded periodically that I married a taller, less Italian version of my father. You know, the man who has a small factory in his garage which he uses to make chairs, tables and, more recently, rock art.

Because what else are you going to do with a rock drill?

Happy Friday!