4am thoughts of you.

Where we live right now can be quite noisy. So much so that your mother and I are thinking about how to make it quieter. I guess, as you will be born into it, you might not notice it as much as we do. That said, it would still be better not to have your first experiences of the world filled with car horns, people shouting, the noise of the marketplace and the constant rhythm of tapping on the metal shutters of shop fronts in order to be let in by those who reside inside. The aforementioned residents remain blissfully unaware of those outside who simply continue to tap out their tuneless request. Right now I am writing to you at five in the morning, having been woken by a chorus of car horns as childish drivers tried to show their superior masculinity through a pointless display of sound based aggression. As I write I am listening to Odetta on my headphones, but this is not enough to keep out the sounds of a group of drunk adolescents passing through the street on their way home from a night of enjoyment. Enjoyment based on the consumption of large quantities of alcohol in a venue, judging by their continued need to communicate through shouting their pointless ideas at each other from a distance of no more than a metre, where the music was being played at ear damaging volume.

You are becoming more and more real to me with each passing day. You mother is always quick to share with me when you are moving about in your liquid comfort, building your strength, practising flexing your extremities, perhaps unconsciously rebelling against your incarceration. These moments of energetic rebellion help me to see you. You legs and feet and arms and hands. Even you face sometimes comes to me in my imaginings, helped by the fact that in general one baby looks very much like another baby. Except you. You are more beautiful.

I'm going back to bed. Talk to you soon. Love you.