Since October: She's a He. He's Levi.

I haven't written about this kid in a spell. Work took up lots of the few wakeful moments of personal productivity of which I was capable. Also, to be honest, I didn't want to write down a bunch of the cliché things I always hear from mothers who've been pregnant, dads who try to describe an indescribable love for their child, how I should "love my belly" and so on.

But a few seconds ago, I realized, "So what?" Cliché or not, these things I've heard have been genuine and true and I don't get tired of hearing them. I do get tired of not being able to articulate how I feel, how it feels, how I wonder what it will feel like, correctly. But I don't care. If people didn't try to conjure words to describe things then there would be less crap in the world. But there would also be fewer instances of those times when you feel like someone else gets it too. The good thing about that would be fewer people would think that their own individual plights were just so unique and important. The bad thing would be if those pieces of language-documented emotion didn't sometimes knock you out because finally, someone gets it. I'm not gonna lie, and I don't care if Aaron thinks Holden Caulfield is a stuck-up ingrate; I still feel like Holden's character was able to articulate things I felt and thought about but couldn't put together on paper. Or on blog. And I wasn't even like the guy. I mean, I had privileges many children I know now don't. But I understood him because the world pissed me off lots of times and blew me away lots of of other times.

Another reason why I've mostly stayed out what the kids call 'the blogosphere' is because once, recently, I tried to find this particular post I wrote years ago when MySpace was something I spent a great deal of time blogging on. I wanted to find written documentation of a Christmas memory where my dad and I saved a cat whose head was stuck in a can. I wanted to find this because I was trying to get my eighth graders to write down and share favorite memories.

Turns out I never wrote down the cat story. I wrote down some other drivel that embarrassed me as I read it in my head. It embarrassed me because maybe it sounded trivial. Trivial because it didn't correctly convey the feeling I remember feeling. The entry sounded like it was written by a kid version of me who was full of it and thought I could write my heart and head and convey it properly. Well it was written by a certain kid. That was the version of the truth for then.

Now, what hasn't changed is I still think there is power in using sentence fragments when freewriting. Starting sentences with "And..." still will be a part of my written life. And now that I have time to write things down again, I'll go forward throwing caution to the gales fully knowing that maybe a few years from now I'll embarrass myself to myself. It's fine, though, because I'm pretty sure Levi will still like me.

One stipulation before I attempt to reveal aspects of life with Levi so far: I hereby promise not to betray my son to anyone via typeface. If he's riding in the front car on an emotional Giant Dipper, you won't read about it from me. He needs to be human and not have the Internet tell everyone about it when he's feeling off. That's that.

What I know so far is this kid has had the power in six months to make me love his father more than I ever did before. There is no frilly language to add to that since I'm not the romantic I used to fancy myself as. But here's some romance anyway: I would slay any beast that ever hindered my close proximity to this man that God made to make Levi with me.

And this kid, Levi. He kicks all the time. I wonder pretty much every minute what he will be like. So far I know he's strong and capable of impressive fetal athleticism. I know his heart beats and that night time is the right time for playing. I have seen an ultrasound image of his little face complete with Skeletor nose looking straight ahead as if into the eyes of whomever is looking at his photo. I have seen his beautifully-knit spine and all 33 of its vertebrae. I have seen his little frog leg. It looks like a mini-Aaron replica. Someone I don't know well laughed when I told her about that, but I was fully serious in my thinking. It seems likely that Levi will possess thighs that are powerhouses like his father does. I hope he will like animals even though his cats climb on top of him while he's in my belly. I can't wait for this kid. Even if he doesn't particularly care for cats at first.

Levi has changed my physiology. One notable feature--in fact, the only one I will mention at this moment--is that the inside of my belly button has seen light it has never seen before. The nerves underneath the tender skin inside are confused and I laugh every time I touch it because this part has been ignored for nearly 29 years. I don't know why it's funny. Maybe it's not. But it's weird.

I am happy to be bestowed with this gift called Levi Hawk. I will never be able to tell you how it all really feels but I will humbly try another time again, maybe.