Hello

Well, hello.

I must say, you took your time in arriving. You probably get that from your mother. (She's the large, comfortable space you're currently bobbing around in.)

You, aged 7.5 weeks.

Your mother and I (I'm your father, by the way), well, we kind of made you. I know, it sounds weird; it is weird. But I'm going to have to ask you to trust me on this. I'll explain it all later. Much later. In fact, long after you've found out about it for yourself.

You, aged 10 weeks.

In the meantime, I'm going to use this blog to try to explain some of the other weird things you will encounter when you join us in the outside world. I know it might seem a little premature, but believe me, you're going to spend several years of your life doing little else but asking us questions about stuff you don't understand, so I'm just trying to get a head start.

We may as well start with the images above. You're going to find that your mother and I have a near-fanatical interest in taking pictures of you. Normally, this will involve forcing you to stand or sit still while we collect the light that bounces off you in a little box. This is a process known as photography.

However, since light can't penetrate your mother's body (that's why it's dark in there), some doctors used a different kind of box to bounce sound off you instead.

All that may sound a little bit violent and unsettling, but I just wanted you to know how anxious we both were to see you. We think it was worth it. We think you're beautiful.

A bit blurry and amorphous, but beautiful.