It' s been a month, over a month. I have my reasons, none of them convincing.
You kick me all the time now. Hard. Sometimes it hurts, especially when you get me right in the ribs, pow, but I love it more than anything. I think I might even miss it when you're not in there any more, safe from harm. It's easy looking after you right now, isn't it? All I have to do is look after myself and you take what you need without making a sound. Soon, in ten weeks time if you are prompt, everything will change. Maybe I'll hold you close and let you kick me, just for old time's sake. Still no ill effects, not really. A bit of heartburn, the occasional searing cramp in my meaty hockey player's calf, but nothing dramatic, nothing to get upset about. I don't even mind when you press down on my bladder in the middle of the night so I have to try and creep down the creaking stairs in this little cottage to the bathroom. This bodes well for our future together, don't you think?
I read that at 30 weeks you have eyelashes. Cute. I hope you have daddy's, they're lush.
