Musings of a Mum: 20 Weeks
Dear Baby Lady Star,
What the heck do you want your name to be? Whisper it to me through that long cord right by you. We've got some ideas, but no thunderbolts just yet. I'm still trying to talk your father out of naming you after various constellations.
My goodness, you are a moving fool. I am unmistakably feeling you tumbling all around in that gel sac you call a home. I have to tell you, not being accustomed to it, it feels both simultaneously awesome and really wrong! Perhaps I watched "Alien" one too many times, but seeing my stomach move like that is a wee bit unnerving. Of course you stop doing it when I tell pop to look. Already coy, eh? I approve.
Can you feel the elevation in all things? Spring is still very cold in Seattle, but all around us courageous daffodils and cherry blossoms bloom. I drift to sleep thinking of spring cleaning projects and my mind is hungry for new stimulation. Meals become more colorful, lighter, easier. Evening bears sunshine well into night, Jupiter and Venus twinkle. The rain gets fatter, more unpredictable. How your mother loves change, most notably the change she herself inflicts. This week, your pop and I are taking a little television hiatus (sorry if you are having Star Trek withdrawals). I've felt quite in love with that guy lately, and each time he tenderly strokes my neck or embraces my awkward physique, I imagine you being blanketed in luxurious fur, or your skin goose-bumping as you emerge into light from the cold shadow. As we sat in candlelight after dinner last night, Pop's eyes teared-up in bliss of the moment. He said that it is moments such as these that fortify his soul in order to face the vast darkness of the universe. I imagine you will be quite the supplement to his soul in this regard.
It's been time to start your musical education. Since we are attending a Radiohead show next month, I've been introducing you to the voice of Thom York, who you will know well. There is much to learn, young Padawan. But we must start somewhere.
I am eager to be near you, with you on the outside. But stay, dear child. Stay and swim.
Musings of a Scientist:
I worked 11 hours today. You laid in your flesh hammock. Congrats on doing nothing; you're a world-class mooch.