137

137.

I did some research. It turns out that it has mystical properties.

That totally makes sense.

In physics the number 137 is referred to as the fine structure constant and some years ago a mathematician was drawn to its significance relating to Jungian archetypes.

I don't even know what that means.

I just know that today it is the most beautiful number in the whole wide word because it counts the beats of my baby's heart. Dr. D turned the screen toward me while I saw a smile spread across Mr. J's face. No teeth just yet, that would be too soon. Just the corners, just a little bit, because he's still scared. I am too, but did I mention that my baby has 137 beats to it's little heart in one whole minute?

"Right there?"

"Right there."

There was a fluttering, a constant movement, little prisms dancing. It reminded me of sparkles and shiny things, life and energy and three years of wanting, shots and blood-stained cotton balls.

"Little, you have a seahorse living in you."

"It is a beautiful seahorse."

Dr. D clicked here and there, measured and said words that I only ever read about online, "Rump to crown measures 9 mm."

My baby has a rump. And a sparkly heart. I have a baby. I even have a baby daddy.

My baby daddy bought a $250 bottle of Balvenie 21 year aged scotch, "When my baby is born I'm going to have a glass of scotch and smoke a cigar with my dad."

"Is that what your dad did with his dad?"

"No, his dad was white trash, but that's what I'm doing."

He already dreamed of a baby in a blue hat with a locomotive on his onesie.

My dreams?

Well, they've already come true.