Dear baby,
I’m lying on the couch while your father sleeps. It’s past 10am. We had a lovely dinner last night with your Gran, Pa and Aunty S and, for the first time in days, I managed to eat it all and keep it down. Win! I found out this week that the women of our family tend to have nine months of sickness. I’m only hoping that doesn’t apply to me. I’m quite over it! I’ve been poking my belly a lot this morning. I read today that you can feel it. It’s kind of nice to think that you feel me touching you in there. I can’t wait to feel you. Hopefully by then I’m feeling a lot better and can really enjoy it. That’s the one thing about being so sick, it’s very hard to get excited! Last night, your Gran brought over some tiny baby clothes for you. I think your Dad started to feel quite nervous holding up tiny little vests and grow suits. Tiny little reminders of the little person we’ll be looking after. I think it’s harder for the Dad. For them, it’s not real. They don’t feel sick, their boobs don’t hurt, they’re not peeing more often than usual (though your Dad already has the bladder of a pregnant woman, if we’re going to be honest) and they can’t yet see you in me. At the moment I just look like I do after a seven-course degustation. That said, the clothes are getting tighter! I think for your Dad it will be real the moment he holds you. I know he’s going to love you. He already tells me off when I make flippant remarks about you. I think you have a lifelong protector there. Next week, if seems, you begin to get hair and make facial expressions. I sincerely hope if you’re a girl that you’re not as hairy as your Dad. Even I’m probably hairier than most girls want to be. Hopefully you don’t have to pay for a world of waxing pain because of your genetics!
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Next: Week 14
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