What part of you is that?

At night in bed he used to reach over and pat whatever bit of me was closest to him.  

What part of you is that?

It was usually my hip, sometimes a rump.

Now it's always my belly, between us like a drum, he doesn't need to ask.

He touches my belly, the baby wriggles in response, he says to it:

What part of you is that?

I answer for it:

My spine, my bottom, my knee, my hand. 

*

I know some things about the baby:

1. It's nocturnal.
2. It suffers terribly from the hiccoughs. I tell it to stop gulping, take small sips instead. My tummy wiggles like an animated jelly for an hour at a time.  
3. It loves its dad. I talk to it all day but the minute the dad gets home and starts speaking, it's like a jumping bean.
4. It is social and will manoeuvre its entire self to the side of my belly closest to whoever I'm talking to. I sit lopsided and try to concentrate.
5. It prefers female vocalists.
6. Strong predilection for food its dad likes - things I've never eaten vast quantities of previously - apples galore, peanut butter, litres of milk. 

*

At the obstetrician's office, the midwife hooks us up to the CTG. She puts the monitor on my belly, locates baby's heart beat, and asks me to firmly hold the monitor in place. In my other hand she places a small wand with a black buzzer on the end. She instructs me to press the buzzer if the baby moves. I feel like I'm in a quiz show...and the answer is: the baby will move the whole time! She leaves the room. The baby tries to kick the monitor off. I wonder if I should just hold the buzzer down. I press the buzzer. Repeatedly.

*

I'm big. Even my ear lobes. I think about changing my name to 'Rotunda'.

*

I have the words to this song in my head: "Oh the days are long, til the baby comes."

*

Can't wait to meet our little bunyip, on the outside.