Mom

Child,
There are more pictures in sound. Your strong bones glow white and your kidneys are pitch black spots, as they should be. We see your cerebellum and are happy to discover that it’s healthy growing. We count your fingers. We try to count your toes, but you are shy about your feet. As the technicain explains the physics of sound painting, your mom does exercise moves in the office, trying to jostle you into proper toe-counting position. You’re not having it and we schedule toe counting for another day. I imagine that I will count your toes one million times, amazed by the very existence of your feet and all the rest of you.

This ultrasound is less mythical to me. The first images of your beautiful globe of a head, arms waving, are riveting. As the exam proceeds though, into the fine details of your organs, I am less transfixed. It is eerie to peer into your body like that, to assess your wellness in grayscale, to see your face as a white skull. I am happy to know that you are healthy and whole, uncounted toes notwithstanding, but I feel like I am begging reassurance from science, like machinery can tell me more about you than hope or faith can. It’s comforting information, but uncomfortable too. You are not your bones. You are everything.

pa-

Mom

Child,
A picture of the orange moon you call home. Your Mom said you were moving like the ocean in there when I took this picture.

pa-