"C'mon sweetheart, daddy loves you, come out and play"
Bear was a bit quiet today. Last night too. She had her butt rammed so far out of beloved's right hand side that her whole belly (and it's quite something now, shaped a cross between basketball and the carapace of a giant green turtle) slung out of whack.
Beloved was uncomfortable, but also not feeling quite right. "I feel like crap", in her own words.
We watched James Bond (I just typo'd it as James Bong and I have to say I see some potential there...) and I thought the noise and the light caffeine hit from the Coke would be enough to get her kicking.
Back home, still nothing, just that hard-slung butt sitting just a bit too far out the side. Beloved still feeling crap. I held her belly in place while we sat watching junk telly. She told me it helped the discomfort but she might have been playing to my eager-but-clueless hubby ego.
I staved off real fear.
Then the bum butts started. There was movement, her position improved slightly. Her feet gave a few prods over the other side. Nothing too lively, but she let us know she had a bit of energy.
"Nothing going on here dad, now stop trying to sing Jeff Buckley songs into mum's crotch, it's embarrassing..."
I hang on everything. I have urges to physically attack people who don't make enough space when wifey's passing through.
I even overreact to ads: I laugh and cheer every time the Commonwealth Bank ad comes on, with the woman thumping the moron who doesn't offer her a seat with a toy, and tonight my eyes got watery - again - at the worksafe ad.
I've seen it 40 times yet I still break out in a huge grin when the kid with the ball sees dad come up the driveway. I grin the same way when little bear gives a few kicks after a prolonged period of excess calm.
Hang in there little bear. I already love you so much it hurts.
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