My god you’re a fast learner: last week I felt you kick for the first time; this week it’s developed into morse code. The succession of little kicks, flutters and the strange feeling of bubbles bursting inside my stomach is your first communication with the outside world – and with me.
The first time it happened, I spent the entire day thinking I’d eaten something bad. I was on the verge of phoning the hysterical-first-time-pregnant-woman hotline (helpfully run by Trafford General, whose midwives are a lesson in non-patronising pre-natal care) when it dawned on me that it wasn’t last night’s tea. It was you. Having a bit of a boot about; an amniotic post-lunch somersault.
And only a few days later you did such an almighty and well-timed kick that your dad got a slice of the action too. I think you’re going to be a generous little soul, parcelling up all those ‘firsts’ fairly and squarely between me and your pa, making sure neither of us feels left out.
Good boy. You carry on kicking.
Milo
Is that a smile I see before me?
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