Somersaults

Kick, roll, jab…

Tumble, turn, flip…

What are you doing in there?

I wish I could help make you more comfortable.  Is it better when I bring my knees up? Do you have more space now? Is it better on my side? On my back?

You are so, so strong, and you’re so small. Less than a foot long, they say. But you are so alive and active. Your mama is so proud of you, already. I am so proud and amazed that I can barely ever sleep, even if I could sleep through your gymnastics.

Of course, night time is your most favorite time to wiggle like this.

I am anxious to see your face, with my widow’s peak and your papa’s cleft chin, but I’m getting to know you, starting now.

You are a prince. You are a gentle man in miniature. You are full of the same proverbial “piss and vinegar” your grampa always said I was full of. You are restless, like your papa. And like your mama in the sense that you will not be ignored.

For these next few, brief months, I am holding you as close as I ever will again as long as we live. I intend to relish every moment and somersault.

I love you, mancub.

Mama xoxo