For weeks now, you and I
have been eating tomatoes as if the harvest’s
bounty will never cease. My breasts, too,
are tomato-heavy, the bowl of my belly
dense with the curve that will only continue
to deepen in the months ahead. Lingering
in bed this morning, I lay my hands
along the rise, palms and fingertips
listening for our daughter. Quickening,
the doctor called it, the desire
for the coming child. Imagine:
next August, we will carry our daughter
into the garden. We will hold
the fruit to her face;
we will teach her tomatoes.
(from the poem “Quickening” by Jacqueline Kolosov)
Inexplicable Ways 
And before anyone gets any ideas and runs out to buy pink frills–we do not know the gender of this child.
What we do know is that the babe moves. Particularly when Norah screams.
I can’t quite imagine any child of yours wearing pink frills? I am still waiting for definite movement. Sometimes I think I feel something, but I’m not really sure. Carey did find a nice loud heartbeat yesterday though. Didn’t even have to move the doppler 🙂
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