We’re at roughly thirty weeks. The kicks are coming hard and often. My wife sat on the couch tonight, wincing and proclaiming that, “It feels like knuckles scraping the inside of my guts.” (She said it with love.) I held my head to her belly and felt the pushes and rolls against my cheek, and I struggled to grasp the reality of something living and growing inside of her. I tried to picture their delicate fingers curling around one of mine, their tiny, gummy smile, their plump feet; it still seems unreal and at the same time, too good to be true.
72 days until baby.
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