I wonder at what point I will grow tired of people rubbing my belly and saying hi to you. It’s a pretty standard cliche, the overwhelmed and over pregnant mom-to-be besieged by the hands of strangers… but at this point, I adore it. Every time someone wants to say hi to you I beam, accepting their well wishes for your existence in this world. I am ok with our community wanting to know you.
In other news, I feel you getting stronger. The tiny twinges I understood to be you are morphing into tiny thuds and pops of “oh!” and I’m slightly afraid of how strong the movements will be when you are 8lbs instead of barely a pound, like you are now. I relax and prod the tightness of my abdomen, speculating where your head is, beginning the lifetime of irritation I will be to you. I am amused by this concept, that already you are turning away from my insistence, pulling the blankets over your head. Secretly I am soaking this feeling in as deep as I can, for now there is no sting of rejection from you. Only speculation, only idle ponderings. I know we will break each other’s hearts in spades but that’s for later days.
Truth be told, my days are filled with these idle ponderings of how our collective life will form, and to what degree truth will play a part. Obviously you will be too little for much truths other than the 100% obvious ones (burners are hot! food is necessary! on and on ad infinitem) but it’s the slippery truths I spend my time with. How old will you be when questions of sex and drugs and “mom, have you ever been arrested?” slip into our daily conversations? Will you even want to discuss any of those issues with me? Will you care to hear of my firsts and lasts?