There are moments when I am awed by Mateo. The last couple weeks I have been so tired, walking around with my head in the clouds that I thought about his kicks as they affected my ribs, not that they were the result of a his little feet or moving arms. Last night he was moving, his typical fruitless attempts at breaking my ribs and destroying my bladder, and I realized he would be fine if he was born. His feet have all ten toes. His head is already perfectly formed. He needs these 9 extra weeks to bulk up, but if born tomorrow he would survive. He would grow, and love, and be fine. I could hold him in my arms. He is real. Mateo is his own person with finger prints and unique ear lobes. He moves not because he has spastic twitches, but because he wants to be comfortable, there is a sound he is drawn to, a movement I do that peaks his interest. He has his own thoughts, maybe his own little desires, wishes, or uncomfortable moments. The movements are not just my belly moving, but him moving. I know all this sounds very trivial and quite obvious, but as a new mother, you never get tired of thinking about it.