Today I saw little Margarita for the first time.

Honestly, it wasn't as cool as I was expecting it to be. I thought she'd be moving around, doing backflips and jumping jacks like Sed's described in having looked at her five or six times. But the kid was asleep. She did throw a token movement my way, but it was more of a wave of dismissal, as if to say, "All right, here I am, now leave me alone." If I'd had any doubt it was my child, that would have wiped it all away.

I also expected to be giddy at seeing her move. The problem there, though, was I was in a room with four excited women (the mom, the midwife, and two nurses), and you know, there's only so much giddy in the world. They stole it all before I even got to bounce. It was still amazing, though, watching something I'd previously thought of as a stagnant feeder (like a lamprey, or a sprig of mistletoe) announce to the world that yes, ladies and gentlemen, there's a real little person in there.

What was most disappointing, though, was the sonogram machine. The hospital Sed works in is brand new, and as such they have all new state-of-the-art equipment. The pictures she's brought home from previous viewings are all sharp and distinctly contrasted -- you can actually make out facial features on the twelve-week profile. Whereas if you look at this picture, you can kind of ... sort of ... not really see at all the difference between the fuzz of the baby and the fuzz of everything else.



"That's not my baby," I said. "That's the thing that burst out of the TV in Poltergeist."

Fortunately for me, it's not like Sed has limited access to the good machines. Next week, I plan to visit her at work (hopefully, one night when it's not so busy) and see my daughter for really real.