He or she stirs throughout the day and especially at night. Sharp elbows or feet dig hard against my belly. Predicted to be just under 40cm, they will stop growing lengthways now, just gain weight over the following weeks. In just two months we will know their name. I begin to remember what real patience is. Slowly an urge inside is growing, a need to know builds. I fight the cravings to wish this time away. I know each day of waiting brings this new life and I closer, I try to focus on this, spend time just the two of us, talking and praying about the future. They can now hear us going about our days. I think about the noises we create and close my eyes to listen more intently. Liam playing tunes on the banjo, Queenie singing as she dances. The rain beating against the window as the radio plays the familiar theme tune of the Archers. The creaks of footprints on the staircase. The faint tap of puzzle pieces being put back, over and over. Onions sizzling in a pan. A xylophone is clinked, only just audible over the sound of the vacuum cleaner. Bob Dylan serenades us from the kitchen. The whir of the fridge. The Velcro tear followed by a wooden clack as toy vegetables are being chopped by small hands. A little voice chattering in the still morning before the pipes spring into life. Amens around the table and a thousand "more mummy?"s. An almost continuous tapping from the drummer. An upstairs murmur of stories being read at bedtime. Lots and lots of kisses. These are the sounds of our home. I wonder how many reach the ears of our unborn child.