20 weeks pregnant

Today, I am 20 weeks pregnant.

20 weeks of fatigue, nausea, raging hormones and stress.

But also, 20 weeks of wonder, fear, excitement, love and gratitude.

It's a strange feeling, knowing you have another human growing inside you. Someone who will eventually be a teacher, or an athlete, or a ticket stub collector at the cinema. Someone who you will mould and teach, and love unconditionally, even if they do put a ding in your semi new car the first time they take it out after passing their test.

This person will probably be an older sibling, and will definitely be a cousin to at least two awesome people. They'll be the first person to continue both mine and Sam's family line, and will bear the surname Mixture-Kent for the first 9 months of their lives. They will know 'home' as the little Victorian cottage their parents painstakingly renovated, and then stopped, and then started again, over the course of almost 3 years by the time they arrive. They will see the scratched wallpaper by the cat, and the dings in the wooden floor from the dog. They will inevitably lay in the dogs bed, and get out stinking of hound, but laugh the whole time.

This person will argue over when to change their nappy, and refuse to eat their breakfast. They will cry unless their drinks in the dinosaur or princess cup, and laugh uncontrollably when Mummy spills coffee down her shirt for the 2nd time that day because she's so . dang . tired.

They will eventually bring a boyfriend or a girlfriend home, and present them to Mum and Dad, and we will act tough and be polite, but as soon as they leave the room we will roll our eyes and giggle at them. We will remember that's how we started out, being introduced to parents and wondering what they thought of us.

We will look at this person, and see a mixture of all the family that came before them. Their Pop's wrinkled piggy nose when concentrating, their Grandma's stubbornness and head shaking. We will see their Nan's generosity, and their Grandad's dance moves round the lounge. They will like peanut butter in everything, or on nothing, and might mix their ketchup and mayo together like their Dad.

They may drive us crazy with pop punk, like we did, or they may pirouette around their bedroom to the classics, but we'll sigh at them whatever. They'll come home too late, make too much mess, and not say thank you enough.

But we will love them.

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