Dear Future Son,
30 inches is the measure of my belly,
Sometimes my feet get a little smelly,
When I stand up my legs feel like jelly,
So I sit down, put my feet up and watch telly.
20 pounds is the measure of my weight gain so far,
which is weird because I walk everywhere and don’t have a car,
No late nights, no drinks at the bar,
Just chai lattes and cookies from the jar.
10 weeks to go until the baby is here,
And will undoubtably be the event of the year,
The house isn’t ready, not any where near,
We have all the gear,
Just no idea.
1 million happy tears are bound to be shed,
From crawling to walking to jumping on the bed,
Some sad ones too, from Sammy the fish dead to bumping your head,
Being there for each tear to make sure you giggle instead!