Baby Kicks
The baby is about seven inches long. When he kicks, I have a hard time deciding if it's baby movement or scones and tea I had for breakfast. I feel a fluttering in my tummy when Bryce plays guitar. He's got a developing brain and tiny eardrums and an sense of melodic understanding. He's a tiny musical genius, I just know it.
At night, when I get ready for bed, I turn on my left side and rub my belly, trying to picture how the baby must be positioned. I wonder if I'm soothing his back or if he's upside-down and I'm just rubbing his bottom. It doesn't really matter. I can wait another four or so months.
Online articles tell me that he can suck his thumb and get startled by sudden loud noises, just like a newborn. I thought about the ambulance that had driven so close to the corner where Bryce and I stood, and I wondered if it scared the baby. I made a mental note to avoid loud areas and wondered if there was way I could make my uterus sound-proof while I traveled on busy city sidewalks. Pillows?
Last night, Bryce's friend wanted to go out. When we arrived at a night club, I hesitated. He assured us that there were quiet areas inside where we could talk, but one look at the bouncy girls and rough-looking guys and decided to go back to the inn. I didn't want to risk some drunk asshole accidentally bumping into my belly on his way to the john, or trying to avoid a fight if one should break out nearby. I worried that I ruined the evening, but I'm about to be a mom, and that place just wasn't my scene. Bryce backed me up. We took a taxi home and watched a movie.
The times between baby kicks, I worry. I worry that the lack of movement may mean that there's something wrong. I worry that he's not as active as he should be. I worry about his tiny heart, his tiny lungs, his tiny -- everything.
And then I feel a fluttery feeling like butterflies tumbling in my stomach, and I relax. He's moving. He's okay.
Or the broccoli I had at lunch is giving me gas. In any case, the baby kicks are worth the worry in between.
At night, when I get ready for bed, I turn on my left side and rub my belly, trying to picture how the baby must be positioned. I wonder if I'm soothing his back or if he's upside-down and I'm just rubbing his bottom. It doesn't really matter. I can wait another four or so months.
Online articles tell me that he can suck his thumb and get startled by sudden loud noises, just like a newborn. I thought about the ambulance that had driven so close to the corner where Bryce and I stood, and I wondered if it scared the baby. I made a mental note to avoid loud areas and wondered if there was way I could make my uterus sound-proof while I traveled on busy city sidewalks. Pillows?
Last night, Bryce's friend wanted to go out. When we arrived at a night club, I hesitated. He assured us that there were quiet areas inside where we could talk, but one look at the bouncy girls and rough-looking guys and decided to go back to the inn. I didn't want to risk some drunk asshole accidentally bumping into my belly on his way to the john, or trying to avoid a fight if one should break out nearby. I worried that I ruined the evening, but I'm about to be a mom, and that place just wasn't my scene. Bryce backed me up. We took a taxi home and watched a movie.
The times between baby kicks, I worry. I worry that the lack of movement may mean that there's something wrong. I worry that he's not as active as he should be. I worry about his tiny heart, his tiny lungs, his tiny -- everything.
And then I feel a fluttery feeling like butterflies tumbling in my stomach, and I relax. He's moving. He's okay.
Or the broccoli I had at lunch is giving me gas. In any case, the baby kicks are worth the worry in between.