I Unlove You (25 page)

“
Come on,
”
he says.
“
They
won
’
t even notice we
’
re
gone.
”

Walking away from the strollers,
past the cots and rail after rail of tiny-people clothes, we head
towards the toy section, its shelves full of strange figures and
animations.

“
Soon, you
’
ll know
all of these characters,
”
says my father, holding out both
palms. He laughs.
“
I hope you
’
re prepared to know
every song and nursery rhyme off by heart.
”

“
It
’
s not like you
did.
”

“
Who says?
”

“
Considering we
didn
’
t have a TV, and all you ever read to me was the
Brother
’
s Grimm, I don
’
t think I ever knew
the height of popular culture.
”

Sighing, he placed his arm around my neck.
“
You
’
d be
surprised, son. You knew every TV character there
was.
”

“
Yeah?
”

“
Oh, yeah.
”
Picking up a talking
green bear, he twirls it in his hands.
“
How are you at the
moment?
”
he asks.

“
Good,
”
I say.
“
She
’
s doing
well.
”

“
I didn
’
t mean
B
.
”

“
I
’
m fine, too.
Although I find places like this a bit
overwhelming.
”

“
That
’
s because
you
’
re a father. All these places do is steal your money
and fill your house with crap you use once, and spend the next five
years trying to give away.
”

“
Even a luddite like
you?
”

“
Especially a luddite like me.
I
’
m telling you, whilst your mother was pregnant she
became obsessed with every book and gadget she could get her hands
on.
”

“
No way.
”

He
nods, putting the teddy back on the shelf.
“
You seem to be doing
better. Not as
…
stressed.
”

Dropping my gaze, I focus on his beige corduroy pants and
dark blue moccasins.
“
I
’
m getting there. It
’
s getting
easier, although I still freak out from time to
time.
”

“
Again, that just makes you a
father. It
’
s amazing what those
scans do to you, though. They put everything into
perspective.
”

I
nod, picturing the waiting room where I twiddled my thumbs and
scratched my palms.
Not like
last time. Not like last time. Not like last
time
, I repeated in my
head.

Reading a magazine with a pregnant woman on the
cover,
B
sat beside me, the two of us silent as we awaited our
grandest news so far.

Staring at the white wall adorned with large posters of
families and babies and expecting mothers, my heart raced and limbs
ached.
Whatever happens, be
strong
, I thought.
In a few minutes
we
’
ll know if we
’
re having a son or
daughter. It
’
s a good day. A
happy day. A strong day
.

“
Hi,
B
. Hi, Aus,
”
said the nurse, or
doctor, or whoever she was - I still didn
’
t know.
“
You ready
to come through?
”

Standing and wrapping my hand around
B
’
s
, I smiled, determined
to be stronger, better, and braver than last
time.

Covering the standard small talk,
B
and the
nurse/doctor/whoever she was chatted as we walked down the
bright-white corridors and into the room with various machines and
monitors. The same monitors that introduced me to my child, and
would soon introduce us to either a boy or girl. My chest pounded
and rumbled, but not like the last time.

Not like last time. Not like last
time. Not like last time.

“
How are you feeling today,
Ausdylan?
”
asked the lady with the answers to all our
questions.

“
I
’
m fine, thank
you,
”
I said, sitting in my rightful chair.

She
nodded and squirted gel on
B
’
s
tummy, moving her
metal wand in circles. In an instant, the monitor showed her
insides, a curled up ball filling the centre of the screen; larger
than before, more pronounced and childlike. Before, it seemed to
float in
B
’
s
womb, a tiny bundle with few features. Now, it pushed
against her with a bigger head and real arms, and feet that looked
like feet.

“
Everything looks
fine,
”
she said.
“
You
’
re sure you want to know the
sex?
”

Squeezing my hand,
B
coughed and cleared her
throat.
“
Yes,
”
she said.
“
Yes, please.
”

Time slowed. As with the first scan, I seemed detached from
my body, floating away as I awaited her words. Would I have a son?
Would I have a daughter? Would I panic like last time, or would I
finally turn a corner?
Not
like last time. Not like last time. Not like last
time
…

“
Well,
”
she said in slow
motion.
“
You look to have a healthy baby boy.
Congratulations.
”

Pushing her spare hand towards her mouth,
B
gasped. I
wanted to speak and say something, to bundle
B
in my arms and kiss
her tummy; our son. Yet I couldn
’
t move. I
couldn
’
t take my eyes off the monitor and his curled up
form. All images of pink clothes and bows vanished, replaced by
blue and footballs, and the toys I used to play
with.

A father and son, walking along
the canal, me demonstrating this chord and that, sharing stories
about when Joey and I went here and there. Like my own father
drowns me in tales of my mother, and how wonderful she is through
his eyes; I can now do the same for my boy.

During this endless moment, my love for
B
grew and grew,
bulging to near impossible heights. Carrying our boy and our
everything, I found strength in the chair beside her bed, a
father-to-be
…
a husband, someday
…
a man right
now.

With a deep breath I faced her, squeezing her fingers and
smiling in the hope she
’
d see.
I love you
, I thought.

“
Would you like another
picture?
”
asked the nurse, or doctor, or whoever she might
be.

B
nodded, and so did I.
“
Yes,
please,
”
we said simultaneously.

Picking up a small red tambourine, I tap my fingers against
it.
“
Were you there for the scans?
”
I ask my
father.

“
Of course,
”
he says, spinning a
mini drumstick between his fingers.
“
I
didn
’
t miss a single one.
”

“
How did you
feel?
”

“
Each one was amazing. To see
you inside your mother
’
s tummy, and hear
your heartbeat
…
I cried each time.
”

“
You cried?
”

“
I
’
m afraid so.
Although I think you should know by now, your old
man
’
s a big softie.
”

“
I had my
suspicions.
”
I smile, and place the tambourine on the shelf.
“
Didn
’
t you
panic?
”

“
Of course I
did.
”

“
It
’
s
just
…”

“
Dyl,
”
he says, placing his hand on my
shoulder.
“
One of a father
’
s most important
jobs is to feel utterly inept the majority of the
time.
”

“
I
’
m serious,
Dad.
”

“
So am I.
”
He pulls me
closer.
“
It
’
s different for men. We
’
re not born
with a maternal instinct like women are. We learn to love our
children. For the most part, we spend the early days worrying about
every possible detail, and how we
’
ll cope, and what
we
’
ll be like without our freedom
…
whether
we
’
re capable of looking after, and loving, a small,
helpless little person. We
’
re supposed to be
strong and keep calm, but inside, we
’
re anything
but.

“
But,
”
he says, looking towards my mother
and
B
at the other end of the store.
“
It gets easier, and I
remember those scans like they were yesterday. It changed something
within you, didn
’
t
it?
”
he continues.
“
And I
’
m guessing it
terrifies you a little, right?
”

I nod.
“
It is
getting easier, but
…”

“
You
’
re still
scared?
”

I nod again.

“
Dyl, you
’
ll never
lose that fear. There
’
s always so much to
worry about, and as that son of yours gets older,
you
’
ll stay awake at night worried you
’
re doing
a good job, worried he
’
s safe, worried
you
’
re providing him with everything he
needs.

“
The important thing is,
you
’
re doing great. Every man reacts and learns to deal
with all this differently, but those scans help. What you felt in
front of that monitor only grows stronger. It
’
s
terrifying in its own right, but soon you
’
ll hold him and
kiss him and feed him. Life changes, but for the better.
It
’
s hard to explain, but you
’
ll understand
soon enough.
”