at 30 weeks, i revisited dr. albert for my level 3 anatomy scan.  my final visit with the perinatologist turned out to be a flurry of his rapid-fire questions about mongolia while i searched desperately for breaks in the conversation to ask my own questions.  important ones, like "does he have all his limbs because last night ian did just watch this documentary about thalidomide babies" or "what is the hair situation looking like currently do you see a little pompadour starting up."

(and as it turns out: four limbs, not much hair.)

"it's a good thing he hasn't inherited my whack heart," i observe.

"what's wrong with your heart?" dr. albert finally asks me a question unrelated to genghis khan.

"i have left ventricular hypertrophy," i shrug.

if i were the product of the character creation tool in a roleplaying game, my constitution would be a joke.  it would be abundantly clear that whoever built my specs didn't think to allocate much in terms of defense or hp- inexplicably hypertensive, nearsighted beyond the saving grace of lasik, capable of falling down magnificently with absolutely no impetus.  as dr. albert would frame it, i'd stand no chance of surviving to adulthood during the golden era of the mongolian empire.

but this cruel bethesda virgin who designed me to be so bereft in constitution and also skipped over strength, charisma, and dexterity- they allocated every possible skill point into luck.  i am rikku with both rabite's foot and key to success equipped.  i am that baby cruising through a construction site in baby's day out.  i am a 1987 fire rabbit.  i am unstoppably, inexplicably lucky.

season six of sex and the city features an early episode in which carrie reunites with her high school boyfriend, only to find out he has committed himself to psychiatric rehabilitation.  david duchovny, deeply unconvincing in this role, tells her i'm trying to figure out why somethings are harder for me than they are for other people.  this line resonates with me from the other end of the spectrum.  and i wonder why things seem so much easier for me than they do for those around me.  from family to friendships to career to love, everything has always fallen into place.  my hardships are short-lived, my obstacles become doorways, my theatrics stay low-pitched and unimpressive.  i never know the dopamine rush of instant gratification, but eventually i always get the things i want.

i catch myself thinking about it a lot these days, when i explain how easy my pregnancy has been.  from conceiving on the very first try, to coasting through each trimester with no real discomfort, to the immeasurable support and love pouring in from those around me, the words i'm so lucky have risen through the ranks of my vernacular to be the most frequently invoked phrase.  previous champions have been distinctly less gracious (e.g. lol i hate myself, fuck this gay earth, is the grilled cheese food truck here today).  i won none of this on my own merit.  i didn't hustle hard for this comfortable cocktail of hormones.  

i know that childbirth and childrearing are incredibly difficult prospects.  i know that they will probably not be imbued with the golden glow of felix felicis as so many other things have been for me.  but i am still ron with my keeper's gloves on, uplifted by the perception of luck.  i have a feeling that life's trickiest equations will still always find their way to factoring out completely.

it is this blessing, above all others, that i want to bequeath to james.  and i know it can't be allocated to an allele or learned behavior, but i so badly for him to know a life buoyed by both optimism and certainty.  i want to see him maneuver through setbacks and letdowns and heartbreak with aplomb, knowing that things will eventually magnetize into place.  and if he doesn't inherit my ridiculous luck, i hope he gets his father's endless resilience.  both paths have lead us to the very same road- two happy cyberbullies living a charmed life.

at 75% of the way through my first pregnancy, i still struggle to detect nearly anything on an ultrasound.  for all i know, they could be looping a grainy winamp visual and i'd have no idea.  so i can't really tell what my little guy is shaping up to be like, but my physicians both reassure me that he is clinically perfect.  

and that may be an indication that he's starting off with his very first skill point in luck.