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.<\/p>\n
When we got outside he said,<\/p>\n
“I swear – it sounded just like the helicopters in Apocalypse Now. Wap-wap-wap-wap-wap-wap.”
\n“Yes. This is true,” I acknowledged. It did.
\nbeat<\/i>
\n“I wonder how hard it would be to make one of those things, those Dopplers…”<\/p>\n
I’m starting to hope the Revolution does come, and soon, because I want to laugh at all the people whose husbands don’t<\/b> 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 <\/a> who has a small factory in his garage which he uses to make chairs, tables and, more recently, rock art. <\/p>\n Because what else are you going to do with a rock drill?<\/p>\n Happy Friday! <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" 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. … Continue reading ![](\"http:\/\/www.torturedpotato.com\/rocks.jpg\"\/)
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