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Endspurt

February 11, 2014

It’s been emotional, little alien-child. I feel like time’s slowed down and it’s now simply a waiting game. Your arms are wiggling around in my lower abdomen, your feet in my ribcage (as a friend put it “Boom, shake the womb”). I often get what feels like an electric shock in my right leg when you pluck my sciatic nerve like a bass string and my hips ache at night from the extra weight pressing on them.

I really thought I would be totally laid back at this point but I’m getting impatient to meet you. The harder your kicks, punches and nerve-pinging antics come, the more I want to see you. I wonder if you look like your brother? Will you have your father’s blonde hair? Will you even have hair at all? But before that, how will you make your entrance into the world? I’m hoping as uncomplicatedly as possible but birth is a bit like National Rail- you just never know. Either way, I know I’m in good hands. Gosh, maybe you’ll stay in there a bit longer than expected, get your money’s worth and all that and we’ll have to give you some friendly encouragement?

Don’t stay in there too long, eh? I know it’s cosy but there are a bunch of people out here, eagerly anticipating your arrival. Until then, you know what to do. Over and out, see you on the other side.

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