Last night you battered me from the inside with your sweet kicks and wiggles while I sat on the couch and tried to read my new book. Boy do you love playtime, already.
Your father rested his Sunday-stubble cheek against my belly and spoke, just to you. “Hello baby,” he said. “It’s your dad. I love you.”
You stopped kicking. Maybe you were listening?
Your father rubbed my belly, right where you had last kicked. It’s the closest he can come to cuddling you, for now. There’ll be plenty of real cuddles to come, we can both promise you.
Then he cupped his hands around his mouth and spoke again into my belly. “Baby, this is your father,” he said in a funny, deep voice. “If you love me, give me a sign.”
Nothing. You were resolutely still. More than you’d been all day, in fact.
You cheeky little monkey. We laughed. Oh baby, you’re not even born yet and you’re making us laugh. I can’t wait to meet you!