This baby is getting big! The first time I ever felt him move was at about 14 weeks, and it felt like a tiny school of fish were swimming around a few inches below and behind my belly button. The official gynecological term for those first movements is "quickening"; I love the poetry of that term because it's exactly what my heart would do every time I felt him stirring. I giggle when I look at the "baby bump" pictures we took at 12, 14 and 16 weeks because I felt sooooo pregnant, but from this vantage point, it's clear that the difference in my body was barely discernible.
During the second trimester, he progressed to distinct kicks and punches that I have to say were also totally delightful. I frequently sat staring at my belly for half an hour at a time, willing him to make his next move. There was something about those pokes and prodding that felt so reassuring and so magical. At a time when my belly was swelling, but not yet really "pregnant looking" (whatever that means) they convinced me that there really was someone (or something?) in there. It's one of the parts of pregnancy that I wish there was somehow a way to share with my husband. I kept wanting him to be able to feel our baby move, too, so that he could feel the same sweet reassurance and excitement. I know he felt those things when he first saw our son on the ultrasound, but it's just not the same.
However, now that I have landed solidly in my third trimester (exactly 32 weeks pregnant as of yesterday), the situation in my belly has gotten kind of out of control. It seems like my midsection swells just a bit more every day, but more than that, it is very clear that John is growing by leaps and bounds because what used to be gentle pokes and prods have turned into earthquakes and cartwheels.
Nothing he does hurts, per se, but it's often startling and bizarre enough that I gasp out loud. There's really no analogy that works to describe what this whole situation feels like. It feels exactly like a baby rolling around inside of me, but until you've felt that, it's wholly impossible to imagine. Naturally, like most first time moms, I'm completely fascinated by every single thing I feel. It's like a second life. I'm paying attention (mostly) to what's going on at work, or at home with Joe, but once the little guy gets going, my focus turns totally inward. The fancy psychological term for this is "primary maternal preoccupation," and it's certainly no myth!
Along with the seismic rolling, twisting and bucking, he's gotten himself appropriately turned and headed (head down) in the right direction, and sometimes it literally feels like he's trying to squirm his way out of the womb. Other times it feels like he's grabbing or stepping on a variety of my other internal organs, but I'll spare you the details on that one.
With each passing day, I'm more acutely aware that we are moving towards the actual birth itself, which is exciting, terrifying, overwhelming and awesome to contemplate. His nursery is on the way to completion, the diaper service is scheduled, my maternity leave paperwork is being processed, but really, how could we possibly prepare? I really want to meet this little dude, and even though I've been around plenty of babies and basically know how to keep one alive, there's so much mystery.
So, John, we're waiting for you out here. We love you so much already, and I forgive you for the ridiculously uncomfortable thing you keep doing to the right side of my rib cage with your foot.
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