Already, there are some profound differences between you and your brother.
When I was pregnant with you, you weren't what anyone would call "active." In fact, twice during that pregnancy, I had to call the midwife and ask, "I haven't felt the baby move in 24 hours. Can I drop by your office to be sure everything's okay?" You were so happy chilling out in there that I think you would have stayed indefinitely, enrolled in some correspondence classes, and found a way to explain to your future boss that you'd need to work "remotely."
Your brother, on the other hand, never stops moving. Ever. But he really gets going around 10pm, when I want to go to bed. He kicks, he twirls, he punches, he tries to sit up. Your dad doesn't even have to reach over and feel, because he can watch it all happening from his side of the bed. He sometimes asks me, "How does that feel?" and I always say, "Imagine your liver and your spleen don't get along. And they've launched a jihad against each other."
Your dad just says, "If he can kick like that, maybe we should build some uprights in the backyard."
It's so bad some nights that I can't sleep at all, so I lie there in the dark and imagine what your brother will be like based on what I know of him so far: He likes to party all night. He likes to get rowdy. He loves to kick and jump. And then I come to the logical conclusion - that I will soon be giving birth to David Lee Roth.
If my next ultrasound comes back looking something like this, I will not be at all surprised.
Peg Peg, see if you can find us a gold lame jumpsuit in a 3-6mo.
Love,
Mom
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