I love you, unborn son.

Sometimes when I’m in bed, and the only sound is the snoring in my ear, I think too much.
I start out with something small, like; Oh my God, I’m having a baby.
Okay, that’s not small, but that’s as small as it gets these days. Usually, I can get around my fear of MY life being sucked out of me and being transformed into a smaller, wrinklier version of me that explodes from my vagina in a few months by thinking of all the positive things I’ll get from being a mother.. like, someone to watch cartoons with…?
Okay, so the list is in progress. I’m terrified. I know my body is made for this sort of thing, but I feel like an alien, and I sure as hell look like a spaceship.
The first time you look down and you can’t see your feet, or the first time you go to get off the couch, and it’s much harder than you remember, is terrifying. The list goes on and on.Anymore, my go-to rule is; Don’t look down.Don’t get me wrong, I love every time I feel him wiggle in there, but he scares me to death.
I love you, little boy.

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