Today, we went to the doctor and found out that the round little part of you that I've been rubbing is not actually your head, but your bum. Don't take this the wrong way. We still think you're the most perfect little thing ever created and will be sure not to get the two mixed up in the future (though you would look adorable with a diaper on your head).
On the bright side, you've got lots of chubs, you're head down, and ready to be born. I kind of went into a nesting panic last week and dragged your dad to the store to buy you a car seat. Then I wore myself silly putting all of your new things away and oohing and ahhing over your teeny tiny socks and cloth diapers. We're sort of obsessed with you.
Also, your kicks and jabs are getting stronger than ever. You usually choose to have a dance party after I've been eating something especially tasty. Sigh, you're so much like your dad. He's rather proud of this fact.
We get to meet you soon! Your dad is requesting that you not decide to be born during the Superbowl, as I won't let him have a television on in our hospital room.