A letter to my avocado-sized tiny human

Hi, baby. I'm 18 weeks pregnant today. 16 weeks ago, you were a single cell with two nuclei, about to mix it together and make a new human. Look at you now: a tiny baby curled up in a foetal position. Sometimes it feels unreal. I can't grasp how lucky I am to have you in my belly. I think it will be easier when I'll really feel you move. For now, I'm always afraid that you might disappear, even though I feel my uterus stretching to give you room to grow. How does it feel? Are you comfortable? Do you hear your dad? He talks to you in the evenings. I can't wait to see you two reunited. You need to know this man is the nicest human in the world. Everytime we talk about you, his eyes turn red and glisten. I think you'll like him, he knows how to make people feel safe. For now, your dad feels a little bit lonely sometimes, because I have you with me all the time. I know he will be your favorite human soon. I couldn't do it without him. Before I met him, I wasn't sure I was capable of…