Dear Baby B

Dear Baby B,

You haven't been born yet. You're not supposed to be born for another 10 weeks and 6 days but I feel we already know each other pretty well- we've been through a lot.

For instance, I know you're going to be a handful. You're such a little wriggler, I have no idea when you sleep as you seem to keep going all night as well as all day.

I know that you love The Killers. Every time you here Brandon Flowers' voice my tummy moves to the source of the sound, like cartoon mouse under a blanket or such like. You also particularly Tenacious D and have done ever since your daddy and I went to see them live a few weeks ago.

Much to your daddy's delight, you seem to like football- but only if the crowd are enthusiastic- you like lots of cheering and don't mind the odd vuvuzela or trumpet noise one bit.

You're not scared of loud noises. You never jump when I cough and sneeze or when cars backfire or people shout. You don't like being poked and you kick something chronic when the midwife prods you or the waistband of my maternity jeans digs in.

You love daddy and all your grandparents and you do a happy jig when you hear their voices.

You don't know enough yet to know that mummy is terrible singer, so for now you like it when I sing to you when I do the washing up- especially if its The Killers.

I know your name and have done for the last 10 weeks and 1 day, but I won't write it here. It's such a beautiful unusual name that it will be immediately obvious that I'm talking about you.

I know I love you. I've known that since I waved a stick covered in wee and a blue line in your dad's face.

I absolutely can't wait to meet you and to find out more things about you but I  know I must be patient and wait until you're cooked.

See you soon.

Love,

Mummy