Buy Bonds

As I sit down to write after a long bonding weekend of birthing classes - breath, breath, don’t forget to breath - and nursery room readiness, I’m thinking about bonds.

There are lots of types of bond – Treasury bond, municipal bond, corporate bond, chemical bond, ionic bond, covalent bond, bonds that are laws, bonds for insurance, bonds that tie as well as bind, and James Bond.

There’s even Gold Bond powders and creams which, like the snake oil salesmen of yore, offers to cure what ails – or more importantly, itches – you without telling you how or what’s in it.

But it is the emotional bonds that I’m thinking about at the moment. Well, that and James Bond; Casino Royale was a great flick. Did you see the part where… But I digress.

I haven’t seen a lot of information on fathers bonding with their children in utero, so I’ve sorta been flying blind on this one. My solution has been a two-pronged approach – I share music with the twins and I talk to each of them, both individually as well as together.

At first, talking to them through P.Pie’s belly felt a little, well, odd.

But after you’ve done it a few times, it seems completely normal. Of course, you wonder how much is getting through and if you’re really just talking to your wife’s growing belly.

Last Friday, I got the answer.

Friday evening was our first day of birthing class. Basically we watched a few gruesome birthing videos, talked about expectations, and practiced relaxation techniques. Generally, it was three hours well spent.

After we got home, P.Pie sat down in the rocker and lifted her shirt over her belly in order to rub it vigorously. I took the opportunity to talk to the kids.

I started with some small talk for the both of them. Just the usual ‘I love you’ and ‘Keep growing strong’ fare. I then moved up to the top of the belly, which is Twin B’s home.

Close to the belly and addressing him directly, I spoke a few words. As I started to move to Twin A’s side of the uterus, Twin B pushed on P.Pie’s belly two or three times! His little hand, foot, or the top of his head rose to acknowledge his father’s efforts.

At least that’s what it seemed like to me.

Well, I needed to see if this was just happenstance or an actual reaction to my talking. So I returned to Twin B’s half of the womb and said a few more words.

And again he pushed against the confines of his small, shared space to tell me that he heard me loud and clear.

Yes, yes. It is probably just a stimulus response, much like Pavlov’s dog.

But it was my stimulus to which he was responding. Not P.Pie’s, not one of her co-workers’, not The VP’s. Mine. My voice. His father.

Much like The Grinch in the Dr. Seuss Christmas tale, my heart grew three times its normal size!

And these two aren’t even born yet.

I may have a heart attack from pride before they’re out of their toddling stage.