"Oof," I said, and guided Pär's hand to the small hard bulge moving around just below my ribcage. "Feel that foot."

"Yikes," he said. "Tot sure has hard feet."

We lay together in peaceful silence for a moment.

"Let's name Tot 'Frogbutt The Glorious'," I said.

"Spelled how, T-h-a, or D-a, or...?"

"T-h-e."

"Okay," he said.

"But only if Tot has a frogbutt," I said.

"How will we know?"

"It will be green, and look like a frog's butt," I explained patiently.

"All right."

It was seven in the morning and we were in bed. I had just woken up from a disturbing dream. I had been in a room with all these people sitting in a circle, some kind of theater class, and I had to get up and give an improv performance. Without any planning or rehearsal, I was being called upon to make up some physical routine to go along with a Stevie Wonder tune ("You Are the Sunshine of My Life") which I also had to sing. I didn't know all the lyrics, and I had no idea what to do with my body to act out the song in a way that wouldn't be completely lame and embarrassing.

It's the kind of dream I used to have all the time when I did theater stuff, but haven't had in years. Parenthood looms before me. I don't know my lines and it's mostly improv anyway. So there I was this morning, wide awake and trying to shake a lingering nervousness. Pär was only conscious because I'd woken him up for comfort-snuggling; he was on his way back to sleep.

Another bulge appeared on the other side of my stomach. "Ow. There goes Tot again with another foot," I said. "They're everywhere. Tot must have about five feet."

"I hope not, Karen," said Pär.

"Well, at least they're all strong healthy limbs from the feel of it."

Pär nestled into his pillow. "What if Tot is an iguana?"

"The midwives wouldn't have been able to feel where his big round head was, if he had been an iguana."

"Oh yeah. That's good," Pär said. He rolled over and I pressed up against his back. A minute later, I heard him murmur, "What if Tot is a Republican?"

"It could happen," I admitted. "I think there's a recessive gene in my family."

We lay there for a while. Pär's breathing began to deepen.

"What if Tot is a socialist?" I asked. "Your family has genes too, you know."

"We have fewer genes," he mumbled.

"You what?"

"Swedes only have thirteen genes," he mumbled. "Because we're less ornery than you."

I contemplated the scientific logic of this statement briefly, then gave it up. "Is anyone in your family now, or have they ever been, a socialist?" I demanded.

"Everyone in Sweden is a socialist, at some point," he murmured.

"Oh," I said, deflated. "Well, never mind then."

His breathing deepened some more; he was practically asleep. I couldn't stop my curiousity to check his reactions, though. "Pär?"

"Mmmgh."

"What if Tot is gay?"

"Uh, okay," he said, his mellow sleep-breathing unbroken. I snuggled closer to him.

"What if Tot joins the army?"

A faint, mournful sound emerged from Pär. "Okay," he sighed.

"What if Tot becomes an investment banker?"

No reply. Pär was too deeply asleep to care.

"What if Tot likes Kevin Costner?" I said. At this point I was talking mainly to myself, but as I spoke, Pär's body gave a violent twitch.

"Tot won't like Kevin Costner," he proclaimed with vehement force.

"No..."

"Tot will never like Kevin Costner. It won't happen."

"Okay," I said soothingly. Pär relaxed. Ten seconds later, he was asleep again.

When it comes to your child's future choices and possibilities, it's good to know where one's mate draws the line.