I wrote the following poem in December of 2003 in the waiting room of the doctorâ€™s office. Marathon Girl and I had been discussing what to name the baby if it was a boy or a girl. What follows just flowed from pen to paper. What surprises me on reading this again is that we ended up sticking with the first boy name we liked and using the girl name we liked when our daughter arrived almost three years later. To Aidan or Molly
The books say youâ€™re the size of an avocado, and if we could see you swimming in a warm bath of amniotic fluid, weâ€™d know if youâ€™re a boy or a girl. In a month the doctor will strip away some of the mystery, but for now we like to lie in bed and imagine what youâ€™ll be and give you names like Aidan or Molly.
And after the talk of names is done for the night, Iâ€™ll skip ahead a few chapters to see what youâ€™ll look like nine weeks from now and read about the changes youâ€™ll undergo before joining the family of a writer and a chemist.
But by the time youâ€™re old enough to read this, I may not be a writer and your mother may not be a chemist and your name might not be Aidan or Molly but Jarom or Natalie or something that wonâ€™t be a thought in our minds until the moment youâ€™re born.
â€“ Abel Keogh 12/23/03