An open letter to the feldling...

Dear Feldling,
Your mother and I are very excited about your continued growth and are eagerly anticipating your arrival. It is possible I am somewhat more excited about it than she is as I will not be participating quite as directly in your emergence into the outside world.
As a quick primer, it's loud, bright, and crowded out here. Not crowded like your current living quarters, crowded like it would be if there were three of you in there. Also, sometimes it rains.
I have a quick complaint to lodge. I know that you have not yet been born and may plead ignorance or that it is unfair to pick on you until the stork's arrival but I am your father and I think I have valid ground upon which to stand.
On this past Sunday morning (I know you're a little fuzzy on concepts like Sunday but bear with me) I was stubbornly clinging to sleep and resisting your mother's prods to wake up, which she cleverly tried to disguise as snuggles. I could have resisted the snuggles but when you awoke and began punching and/or kicking and/or head-butting me in the lower back and kidneys I was compelled from a lovely dream involving sailing a three masted schooner through an ocean of orange jello as my crew and I pursued a fourteen-armed octopus, or possibly a tetradecagopus, beneath a clear green sky.
Normally for so small an offense I would simply ground you for a few days but as you are mainly dependent upon the vehicle of your mother's abdomen it seems a futile gesture.
This written complaint and a request shall have to suffice.
The request is this: in future please save your pummellings for your immediate environs and lay off the old man, he's not getting any younger and any damage could render feeble and hilarious any attempts he might make to play with you in the near and/or distant future.
Your loving, sore, and disgruntled father,
Chadwick