These days the baby moves quite a bit, and is definitely getting stronger. Sometimes he'll roll around for what feels like hours at a time, and sometimes just give me quick kicks, like he wants me to remember that he's there. I catch glimpses of myself in mirrors and remember how huge I suddenly am... like, oh, that's right, I'm still pregnant and growing. Then I see someone on the street who is clearly closer to the full 40 weeks and I get a little scared at all that there is to come. We don't have very many baby things around the house yet, and things are sort of messy here right now, so in a lot of ways it feels like we are pretty far from being ready. Then I think of all the months between June and October and decide that we have plenty of time, but I'm pretty convinced that it's going to fly by.
I think about next year, and enjoying the autumn and winter with our baby, then get worried about all the things that can go wrong between now and then. I eat two chocolate bars and feel guilty, so have salad for dinner to try to make up for it. We joke about introducing the baby to sounds and tastes right now, while he's still growing, like what I eat or listen to will somehow influence him. I point out babies when I'm outside with Sam, guessing their ages and wondering where we'll be when our baby is that old. We imagine our different futures: where we'll live, how many other babies there will be, that sort of thing.