To whom it may concern.

Hello there!
I see that you've decided to pick my belly as your temporary residence. Welcome! Benvenuti! (as the Italians would say)
I can see that you're getting cozy. Which is to say, I'm looking a little chubby most recently, and sitting just doesn't feel right these days unless I loosen a button.
I know it's too soon, technically. I realize that you're probably a lot more, ehem, gas than babies right now. But I can't resist the urge to do a "pat pat rub" every once in a while. I can't help but smile a little more sweetly. And if someone happens to notice that I'm glowing, well, that's not my fault now is it?
Maybe I'm doing a bit more than my part when I stock breakfast sausage on my plate next to waffles and fried plantains. I'm just pretty sure that you probably enjoy that stuff as much as I do.
And I got plantains.
They're a fruit.
I haven't seen them listed in any of my pregnancy books, but they've gotta have magnesium or something.
And I'm eating the good stuff too.
I guess food is just the first way we have to communicate with each other.
For example, you tell me you don't like nuts.
CHECK.
Apparently you like meat.
Okay.
I could fight you on this, but I'm afraid I'm easily influenced by people I like.
And for some reason I like you a whole lot.
Even though you make it so that I can't poop, but pee every five minutes.
Even though the two of you will make everything that preceded you a vague memory.
So that one day I'll wonder how I ever could have wanted to stay up all night.
I can't help it. I've got feelings.
I could go on pretending you're not there for another few weeks, but I think I'll go ahead and start loving you instead.
But I'm not rushing you. You just keep growing your creepy little fish bodies til they look like human.
And when you're ready; don't be shy. You can visit my rib cage with the heel of your foot as soon as you feel like it.
Until then. We'll just keep on eating, I guess.
Yours Truly,
The warm tissuey nutritive thing that sometimes makes sounds like
swoosh-glom-gurgle, who's altitude pressurization varies according the days of the week.
a.k.a
mom