Dear Little Chicken (or Det. Charlie Crewes, as your father insists on calling you to torment me) -
Well, well. Twelve weeks, sort of. Quite a milestone we've reached (or will soon). It's hard to believe we've come so far together, that you are still in there, living, growing, hopefully thriving.
The books say you are between 2 and 3 inches long already, which astounds me. I know you are supposed to get much bigger - 6-7 times your current size! - before you make your debut, but it's crazy to imagine that you are already so big. I'm not sure quite where you fit, to be honest. You are somewhere around the size of a lime or a plum, and even though I can feel my uterus, it's hard to imagine something the size of a piece of fruit just hanging out inside me all the time.
You clearly move around a lot too, which just tickles me to death. If imagining you being so big and inside me is hard, picturing you moving is harder . . . and yet the way you avoid the doppler and skip about makes it clear enough. I am thrilled whenever you hold still long enough to let us clearly your heartbeat. It makes our days. Your daddy sits there in the chair, eyes closed, a small on his face everytime, unless he's actually holding the monitor, watching for you.
Settle in well, darling, I want you snug and secure for another 6 months or so. I am so looking forward to seeing you on Thursday, since you should be far more recognizable and visible than you were 6 weeks ago. I can't wait. So far, each and every week, each and every milestone, you've exceeded our hopes and expectations. You are so amazing, little one, and we are so very grateful for you. Every moment of sickness and fatigue, and misery and uncertainty has been worth it to have you safe and sound.
There is so much we want to do with you, to teach you, to show you, to tell you. I pray often that you are the baby we will hold in our arms, watch grow, and raise in love. You are so very much wanted and loved.
We cannot wait to meet you, Chickie.
Mama and Daddy