Twinks Gets Fit...

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

22 week letter

Dear Peanut,

Well, it's confirmed x 3. You are my precious little GIRL. I'm so excited, I really am...which is not to say that had you flashed us male parts that I wouldn't be excited, but if you want to know the truth, I really wanted a girl. So did your dad. This isn't to say we won't try to give you a baby brother someday, but we definitely had visions of having a daughter.

I find I can't look too far ahead because picturing you as a teenager scares the bejeebus out of me. We see all the scantily dressed high schoolers on their way to school every morning and it's terrifying to the point that if you came trouncing in wearing short shorts and UGG boots, your dad might have a coronary. I'm not kidding.

So I'll put blinders onto the fact that one day you'll be that age and concentrate on what a sweet little baby you will be. How it's almost inevitable you'll have dark brown hair and a toss up for your eye color. I can picture you with your hair long, playing at the park. I can't wait to hold you and read you stories and build forts with you.

I'm feeling you move and kick more and more. You have a particular interest in my right hip bone. It doesn't move, by the way. You seem to love early evenings and like your momma, you could do without early mornings. You're a very active little squirt. Everyone who's tried to get a heartbeat reading or done an ultrasound has said so. You also seem to have a lot of personality. You have a stubborn streak that can be blamed on your Irish heritage (your dad) or me. It's probably me. I can be pretty bull-headed, if that's the correct animal affiliation.

We took you to your first sporting events this month--two basketball games and a hockey game! Lucky you. I think all the noise at the WNBA Finals game (Mercury won!) definitely disturbed you. I blame the 12-year-old satan child in front of us who constantly smacked the inflatable noisemakers together. You were rolling around a lot that game. Same for the Coyotes game. We took it as a good sign, though if you had started punching at the left side of my belly toward where Uncle Philip was sitting, we could have confirmed in utero that you have good team loyalty. (Actually, you just started doing your wild speed boxing move into that side as I type!)

We're two weeks past my scary fruit comparison and you're still growing strong. The ultrasound tech estimated you to be almost a pound and you should be about 11 inches at this point. You're about the size of an over-inflated football. Alternatively, you're the size of a spaghetti squash. Now, I'm not familiar with that particular kind of squash, but let me tell you, it's a heck of a lot bigger than a quarter and infinitely bigger than your poppy seed beginnings. Admittedly, the watermelon comparison frightens me...a lot, but I want you to keep on growing and packing on the pounds, kiddo. We still have some important milestones to hit over the next few weeks.

Oh, and your nursery is freshly painted with new floors. Also, you have more clothes than me and you're not even born yet.

I love you.


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