..where is my son?...

The minutes go agonizingly slow in the darkness of night. I lay in bed next to my woman and my unborn child. My hand and forearm feel the entirety of the womb, registering the little bumps and kicks. Occasionally, I adjust my hand to catch a particularly hard bump but the little one is not too consistent with his movements. As we are about to hit the second day past the due date, I am gripped by anxiety and excitement. I cannot wait for my son to be born. I am afraid of my son being in this world. I am truly joyous that I will have a heir. I am fearful that, despite what I do, he may be destined for something else. Is a child's future determined by free will or destiny? There is no proof of either, which is all the more troubling, but comforting to think that there is some measure of choice and fate.

I gasp. My heart rate quickens. I try to adjust my position. Instead, I feel queasy and finding difficulty in taking calm breaths. I am at a place many have failed. What will be my result? Will I be a good father or a bad father? So many people profess to have been a good parent simply by being there, supporting their family, etc, etc, etc... But is simply providing a home and sustenance the key to being a good parent? Never mind a roof over their heads or food on the table. If you have some extent of that, what really makes you stand out as a parent?
Love.

I worry that I may not be able to communicate with my son as well I wish. I will teach him sign language before he even speaks, but I desire to hear my boy throughout his years, rather than supplementing with sign language. I have no gripes with sign language or being deaf anymore but the fact that I have fought for common ground, to be equal to anyone else, and refused to be labeled deaf(unless I myself use it as a scapegoat), I will never want anything less than to be like my son.

We are at the beginning of our lives. The beginning of a magnificent and tumultuous journey. I cannot help but think of all the things I want to do for and with my son. I still cannot fight back the anxieties trying to poison my joy. Perhaps, the anxieties will never leave, as I have observed in my parents, because they will never stop worrying until the day they die. Which leads me to realize that this is only the beginning. I will never stop worrying and protecting my family until the day I die. I don't plan on dying for a very, very long time so my family might get sick of me at some point.

I realize I've been dreaming and wake with a start. After a long time of feeling helpless and unable to sleep, I had drifted into a sea of what ifs. I shake my head and try to settle back in. I wish I knew what I was doing. I suppose that kind of knowledge will only come as I go. I grimace at the thought of being ignorant or, even, lacking basic understanding of how to do a particular thing.

I roll over in an attempt to sleep. I cannot sleep. I fall asleep. I wake with a start. I snort. I adjust and clench my teeth. I wake-dream in flashes but I am still awake. After some time laying motionless, I roll over one more time. Closer to my woman. I put my arm back around her and feel her womb in which my son resides. When will he come?

I fall asleep.