Your father and I took ourselves away to an exclusive resort on a far away island called Saadiyat, off the coast of Abu Dhabi, in the Arabian Gulf, as part of our celebrations, for you had turned 9 months inside of me. We could not be happier. We ate, we danced, we swam and we hugged. You must know, little one, that you are anxiously awaited. But do take your time in making your appearance. Stay inside, if you will, for another 4 weeks. Please!
The age of romance is not yet dead, the evidence of which is the doting, affectionate and endlessly attentive husband I claim as my own. Ever since you were declared as our brewing bebe, your father has heaped upon me unsparing tenderness, warmth and intimacy. He gets cranky if a stranger approaches too close to you, in your cocoon; he lavishes generous compliments on my changing appearance, and he conveys his love for you with nightly rubs and sing-songs to the belly.
What a husband! What a dad! What a romance!