Yeah, I thought that sounded pretty stupid too. It’s supposed to be indicative of your overall length, which they claim should be 19 inches. You’re also supposed to be six and a third pounds in weight, which gave your mother a laugh this afternoon. I’d guess you hit that particular benchmark a few weeks ago by the sound of things.

You seem to be doing just fine, according to all the doctors and checkups; the hiccups you have constantly are normal, from what they say, and that’ll go away as you get older. Unless, of course, you share the same unfortunate and embarrassing reaction to very spicy foods like your father, which means they will fire up just as your nose starts running, and you’ll have to escape to the restrooms to be polite and keep your malfunctioning sinus and gastrointestinal systems from hiccuping snot all over your date. Welcome to the family, kid.

Mama is doing well, although you’re making it increasingly harder for her to sleep. All the books have line drawings of sleepy pregnant women perched on great architectural stacks of pillows like they have successfully completed a Tetris level. This, apparently, is propaganda underwritten by the pillow industry, because we bought a shitload of pillows for your mother to try and wedge between critical pressure points in order to find peace, but she has not had success. She spends much of the night shifting from one side to the other in a futile attempt to keep her hips and back from aching, and the pillows usually find their way to the floor by morning. The books suggest propping the belly (your space capsule) on a firm pillow; when she tried this, she found it impossible to breathe. She’s actually getting a lot of that now, come to think of it. Can you please get your feet out of her diaphragm?

One of our favorite games, when I have time to lay on the bed or the couch next to her, is to watch you moving around in there. You’re definitely head-down, and we can feel your little butt right up front, as well as your feet. It’s definitely a trip to watch you run a hand down the side of her stomach, or kick a knee out and watch her skin ripple and wave.

So now we play the waiting game. I’m starting, this week, to keep the Jeep gassed up and pointed toward the road for a clean getaway. Your mother is packing the hospital bag. The doula is on standby. Today I’m writing my maternity email to current clients so that they’re in the loop on your arrival and my disappearance. There’s no rush, kid—one helpful thing to know about your mother and father is that even though we have the best of intentions, we’re almost always late.

You asked how’s the porch coming? It’s looking better each day. The baseboards are almost in, the woodwork around the door is up, and everything has at least one coat of primer. I had to do some clever woodworking to make the baseboard along the front of the house completely level, because they kept the original porch floor when they enclosed the room, which was sloped slightly downhill. You shouldn’t notice that once I put in some toe molding, though. Aside from a new door and finish paint, we’re almost home free!