It's a Tranchell

About 5 seconds into my ultrasound, my ultrasound tech could tell our baby was going to be a problem.

"Oh! What a little wiggle worm!" she said, pushing her ultrasound wand across my belly. And then the baby flipped over completely, just to prove that it could. "Dang! Does not want its picture taken!"

And then it turned, and looked right at us. We could see its little skull and eye sockets, like a Halloween skeleton had taken up residence in my gut. TJ gripped my hand, and I knew he was likely sobbing.

I smiled at the little screen and whispered at it.

"Hey there, you."

And then "you" magically transformed. "Would you like to know the sex?" Our tech asked.

And yes, yes of course we would. That's the whole reason we were there.

And with a little maneuvering and some silent prayers, there it was. In grainy black and white sound waves: A doodle. Our little boy.

Little Clark Harold Tranchell.

And then it was gone, as Clark proceeded to resist being measured, captured, held in time. I could feel him wiggling around inside me as the tech chased his movements with her wand. Trying to get a heart beat, trying to measure bones. We have a disc full of blurry ultrasound photos as our child refused to conform.

With a little smile, TJ said, "I expected nothing less."

Five months of existence, and already his daddy's son. Already a Tranchell.