There is nothing typical about my life. From my sleep-talking husband, to my chromasomally fancy youngest son. Just about everything in my life ends up being some kind of different.
I've been calling it "thunking". Kick kick, thunk, kick kick, thunk. I know he is on the move because I can hear him thunking. I don't know how it doesn't hurt, or why he isn't vomiting since he is essentially giving himself the Heimlich over and over, but it works for him and...
I'm. In. TROUBLE.
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