The Dustbowl

Tonight, I heard the heartbeat of my first child emanate from a contraption that looks like the controller from an Intellivision. The business end of this machine was pressed firmly against my wife's stomach and a long and antiquated spiral telephone cable connected it to the controller/speaker unit. When this machine was first lubricated and pressed to her abdomen, it just sounded the stock footage of a dry valley from a Spagetti western. Like the wind blowing into a microphone in the barren 1930s Dustbowl midwest, but with a random click or stutter that reminded me that I live in the digital age. It took the midwife a minute to finally land on the heart. When she did, the gushing metronomic whooshes were spine-tingling and smirk-inducing.

Honest first thought: "How many shitty thrillers have used a similar recording in a tense scene just before something jumps out and frightens the audience?"

Next thought: "I'm gonna be a dad!"