When the kiddo started kicking a few months back, I would put my hand on R's belly to feel it, but he would inevitably settle down and stop before I could feel anything. I felt it for the first time on Father's Day, but it was light, just a flutter: some flesh brushing against other flesh brushing against mine. I thought about writing something lyrical about experiencing my son through this echo of a body, but then one night I was lying on the couch on R's side and the kid straight-up kicked me in the face. This was no echo: you could practically count the toes in the imprint on my cheek. A few days later the obstetrician was trying to get his heartbeat but he kept kicking away the probe. A body is coming; a body is already here.

















