Well, you're growing and growing, and your pushes and bumps and smacks are becoming ever more obvious. Where before it was soda bubbles, now it's definite prods. You must be getting it together in there.
And your sense of hearing is here, and to the dismay of your papa, you seem to ADORE "The Wizard of Oz". We watched it the other night and you were going batshite insane in there. But only when Dorothy sang. It was really, really funny. But your papa thinks it's because the songs are so happy and bright, which I'm okay with. I'll buy that movie soundtrack and play it for you every day if it makes you happy.
Poor kid. I'm editing one book and writing one I absolutely adore, and you? You're stuck growing a brain and getting bigger. I hope all this imagination soaks into your pores, too, so you come out all interested in the world and wanting to be a part of it. And cheerful. Please. Oh, and a good sleeper. And not crying all the time.
The other day your growing process gave me heartburn so bad I almost cried. That was not nice! I would love to know why it hits like that. Thankfully papa comes to the rescue once again and gets me heartburn medicine.
Your papa is my hero, and he'll be yours, too.
I do find to my dismay that the last of my brainpower has been assimilated by the book revising/writing process. I think I'm an empty husk for most of the day.