Happy New Year Baby,
We're three days into 2009, a new year. People tend to be optimistic around this time of year, time for resolutions to start some things and stop others. Odds are pretty good that for your mother and I, you are going to be the biggest/best/overwhelming thing about 2009.
We're also a week into the third trimester; the home stretch to your arrival. It's only a matter of weeks now before you get here. My stomach's full of butterflies, and your mother's stomach is getting full of you, more and more everyday.
You seemed to really enjoy Christmas this year, dancing around in your mother's belly pretty regularly. I can see you moving under her skin now, which is equal parts creepy and cool. You've also been doing this thing where you kind of snuggle down into one corner of her uterus and just sit for a while. Actually, you may be standing on your head, but we imagine you're just sitting there, pulling gently on your umbilical cord, letting your mother know you're hungry.
I try to talk to you everyday. Sometimes you kick or roll for me, most of the time you don't. Your mother says it's because you don't like to be a performing monkey. I think I can appreciate that. Every little move you make makes me laugh now. I can't say why exactly. It's not funny, but it is joyful, the first time I've ever written that word I think. You make me happy baby. When I'm not terrified of failing you, you make me very happy.
Your mother and I laugh about how she's never alone now; you're with her all the time, and you remind her of that constantly. In the shower, or the bathroom, while she's eating, or reading or driving, there you are, nudge, shuff, snuggle and bump.
Your mother's baby bump is quite pronounced now. She's lovely and round and beautiful. I told your mother that she's like a Russian Nesting Doll, and you're the next smallest Doll nestled there inside of her. And since you're going to be born with all the eggs you'll ever make, there's little nesting dolls inside of you too, already, on and on and on.
Little things about little you:
You make your mother gassy, which provides hours of amusement for me.
People who love you have already given you clothing and toys.
We'll be putting your room together soon in our new place, your first home.
I bought you a ladybug light at Ikea. It's cute. Your mother thinks I like it more than you probably will.
Your mother's uterus, (that's the one bedroom, one square-foot apartment you're renting right now) is really, really strong. And hard. So that's cool.
Food makes you move.
This month we start Lamaze classes where your mother and I learn breathing exercises and things that will help her through your arrival. Probably, it'll mostly be for me so I learn to calm down and control my own breathing so I don't hyperventilate. I have a feeling your mother's gonna be fine. And so will you Baby.
See you soon pumpkin.
Love,
Daddy
PS 'Pumpkin' is entirely negotiable. We can nail down a suitably adorable and marginally embarrassing nickname for you when you get here.
