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When I was preggers with Ray, something in me grew (alright you trolls, I’m trying to be metaphorical, not literal hurhur). Methinks it was the maternal instinct that gently bubbled from within and soon embraced me in its warm caress. Oh what a wonderful instinct it is!
When I felt the first flutters of movements (also known as quickening) at 18wks along (first pregnancy), best described as little butterflies or bubbles popping inside my tummy, I was excited but doubtful. Was that my baby or a gassy tummy? Surely I can’t feel the baby yet? I hardly dared to be prematurely excited but as time passed and the movements became more pronounced, I allowed myself to be thrilled with each punch, kick and roll.
Pregnancy conversations in progress! hahah.
Those moments were my precious, intimate conversations with Ray. Poking my tummy and caressing the bump was my way of telling him I absolutely adored the way he moved, it was my way of reaching out to his little hands and feet, separated by a wall of muscles, tissues and fats. There was nothing I loved better than to laze around and chill, observing my tummy as parts of it would suddenly poke or do a wave. His little kungfu kicks and stretches in turn, were a rally of conversation as he spoke to me of the boy he was to become; his character traits now so evident in the active, strong and impatient 8mo he is today.
Eight months. Woah. The finiteness of time has become even more apparent with the arrival of this little package of joy last December. Now that Ray is older, and has become more comfortable, aware and sociable in this world that he inhabits, it is an absolute joy to wake up to his wide, smiling face in the morning, which I suppose, takes away a little of the bitterness in waking up at 6plus in the morning.
No matter how much I refuse to open my eyes in the morning, I need only see this beaming smile at me, and all of me turns to mush…
It is also then, in equal measure or perhaps even more, a heady mixture of anticipation, eagerness and delight in wanting to look at that cherubic little face after a whole day of busying about in the office. Ahhh yes, to love and be loved is perfect. Reciprocation of a love this innocent is pure, unadulterated bliss.
My Favourite Little Fatty in the world with his smug “I know I’m fat but I’m also uber cute” look. Indulge me, will ya? hahha
It’s that moment when he first looks up and spies me as I first get home from work, clinking the keys against the lock, standing at the metal gate that separates us both.
It’s that moment when I step into the house and his peepers light up as each step that I take brings me closer to him, and him, to me.
It’s that moment when he starts baby babbling excitedly, shifting his butt and hands flailing before being outstretched, his baby preparation to be carried all done in 2 seconds flat.
Those moments, those precious, precious moments in the simplicity that hides in everyday life, simultaneously sings and bellows a happy little trill that all at once, illuminates my heart with a warm, orange glow.
Those moments where nothing in the world exists except you and I
Those moments that belong to no one but us.
Happy 8 months baby. Looking forward to the many more insignificant and monumental moments all at once. And to all the other proud moms and dads out there, go home and put away those iPads, iPhones and whatnots for today. Let today be all about you and your baby!
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