It never ceases to amaze me how tiny babies can be. It sounds like a trite phrase, the sort of thing everyone says, but it's true. We had Sue's ultrasound yesterday, and got to actually see Jordan's brother (or sister ... we don't want to know which until that fateful day in June). Unlike Jordan, who slept through every ultrasound she ever had, little Melbourne was a frisky little guy, holding up his/her hands, kicking feet, clinching tiny fists, and generally making the ultrasound tech work for her paycheck.
Sue's second pregnancy has gone by in a rush, as you can see by the dearth of posts on Nuketown about it, with only a single mention in Radio Active. With Jordan, I was posting at a crazed pace, intoxicated with the idea of being a dad for the first time. Now, well, I'm more buzzed than intoxicated. Excited, yes. Thrilled, yes, but there's not that headlong rush of adrenaline and panic as I wonder "are we really ready for this?" and "what if I drop the baby?" and the thousand other thoughts that ricocheted around a new dad's skull at 2 a.m.