boing boing left right

Everything i do these days is folowed by the bolts of aprooval or displeasure, thundering, ripelling trough my entire body likesounds of bass coming from a concert amplifier. It is not that i am psyvhic, and react so to the world or that the gods of monut olympous comunicate to me thus, this thundering energy is produced by the litle baby in side me comunicating its opinions. Should i turn left, when the baby prefers to go right, i feel little fingers proding aobut in my side. When i sit down to dinner, i am cetain its to be un mistaken pleasure, baby bongos about on my belly with utter felicity. , The baby is talking to me right now as i sit write to you. Boing boing every so often seeks a little atention, a song, or touch. The other day i drunk a cup of strong turkish coffe, first time during the whole pregnancy and the baby imitated a wild horse rodeo the rest of the day, poor little thing, unable to stop moving. Here we are now on decaf, feeling less outrageous. Perhaps i am writing this becsou0e so many firends have asked how it feels. Being pregnant. I certanly look like a big fat mama that could eat a roasted hulk for breakfast. And i feel a bit trollish and cumbersome and have to have help doing up shoelaces. But actualy it is one of the most amasing feelings in the world. where ever i am , i am not alone. I walk and people walk, and no one can ,tell, that inside this little baby is talking to me. Is talking to me, and is mine, and seecret like a treasure swathed in all the clothes. I feel lit up, two hearts beat inside me and i am happy all the time.