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…

Commenting on Bubbles has been removed. Why? If you want to talk about this post, write to the author, use the comments on their blog if it has them, or reply with a "RE:" post on your own blog. Suggestions? feedback@bubbles.town