While many people are singing "Deck the Halls," this Christmas season, I've been busy getting decked in the kidneys by my little bundle of joy on the way. The little flutters of baby movements have slowly turned into full-blown punches and kicks these last few weeks, making me look like I have some sort of nervous twitch.
The first kick caught me completely by surprise one Saturday morning while I was at work helping to finish up a Sunday paper. I was leaned over my desk, proofreading a page and happened to have my hand on the side of my stomach.
I suddenly felt something jab me so hard from inside that it bumped my hand right off my stomach. I was pretty startled, as I didn't think my baby was big enough to be able to do that yet. As I felt the jabs a couple more times that day, I started wondering if I was going to give birth to some kind of Incredible Hulk baby. However, at my next doctor's appointment, I was assured that my little one was growing at a normal rate.
[This is the Hulk. You can see why I didn't want to give birth to one.]
At first I jumped or twitched whenever I felt the movement. There's just something a little freaky about having your internal organs kicked.Especially bizarre was the evening I was showing my husband my bare stomach to demonstrate how big I was getting and we both saw a quick bulge just below my ribs on my right side. I wasn't sure whether to say "Aww," or "Eww."
There was even one time last week while I was on my way home from work that I scratched at a spot on my stomach and felt a kick in that exact place. Just for the heck of it, I did it again. Felt another kick in the same place. I did this four or five times with the same result before it stopped. I'm not sure if it was a coincidence or if the baby really was interacting with me, but it entertained me, at least.
The periodic kicks make everything seem a little more real. Even though I've only got a little over three more months to go, there are still time when I can't believe this is really happening. I have those moments (probably intensified by pregnancy hormones) where I imagine the future and become convinced that I'll never be able to handle motherhood, that I'll mess it all up.
But recently I went to a Christmas party with a bunch of friends, one of which had a nearly one-year-old little girl. In the past, I would have given a baby a wide berth, but this time I felt comfortable with her around. I was even pleased when, tempted by the sparkles on my Christmas shirt, she let me pick her up off the floor and hold her so she could inspect it better.
She didn't scream, didn't cry. I didn't drop her. She just calmly poked at my shiny shirt in between glancing curiously up at me.
And I had the quiet thought, "Hey, maybe I won't be so bad at this after all."
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