Okay- this is what I looked like this morning. With no makeup on. Feeling like poop.
Lately, your Papa likes to say, “Holy shit you are really pregnant!” Like he’s discovering it for the first time. It’s an endearing game he enjoys playing with himself. It’s more endearing for me to see his eyes light up when he sees you in my belly. He can’t stop looking. He becomes mesmerized. Like I’ve hypnotized him and can make him do whatever I want him to. Strut like a chicken or whatnot. Not that I would ever do that. Cruelty is not my style. But it really is like in the cartoons you’ll be watching where the person gets stars in their eyes. It’s super cute.
Hard for me to see it though. I have one view of you, usually, and that is from the top down. I rub you a lot and talk to you all day. I hope you like the music I rock out to in the car. I really hope you don’t like shitty music. That would suck. But with parents like your Dad and I, I think the chances of that are rather slim. You go to AA meetings too, by the way. And listen to many stories of courage, strength, and hope. You might get a kick out of the clapping. Or you might end up kicking me when they clap. We’ll have to wait and see. I have been trying to feel you fluttering in there. Doing your somersaults and backflips. But not yet. All I feel so far I think is gas.
I’ve gotta get back to work. I feel dizzy and light headed today with a slight headache and dreamed all night about your Uncle Strider getting out of jail and sharks with double rows of razor sharped teeth.
I love you. Have fun doing your gymnastics in there. Hang tight. Friday we have an appointment for an amniocentesis and we need to be strong for that.