Sunday, July 7, 2013
Jane tried to adjust herself on the narrow gurney in the ultrasound room. She shifted to one side and then another in an awkward attempt for a few minutes of relief. A sharp kick from her unborn put to rest the notion of comfort.
Birth was no more than 8 weeks away. Jane was fairly certain they would be the longest of her life. Between the constant heartburn, having strangers rub her belly and the helpful reminders of “Holy cow, you’re as big as a house”, the charm of pregnancy had run its course.
The final step – aside from labour and delivery – was a decision about the name. It was a contentious issue made more difficult by Jane’s teenage career as a camp counselor. Every boy’s name came with baggage. The only boy name that Jane could remotely warm to was Paul, but her husband Tim wasn’t keen on using a name that just happened to be the same as her ex-boyfriend. Most conversations ran a similar course of suggestions and rejections followed by both hoping for a girl.