Alive and kicking

For ages now Jack has been desperate – I mean desperate – to be able to feel the baby move. When I first thought I could feel it moving about, he was obviously gagging to be able to share the experience. I would pause thoughtfully, occasionally, and say vaguely, "I wonder if that’s the baby moving?" and he’d stop whatever he was doing, and be very keen for me to confirm whether or not it was. Which of course I couldn’t do. Because early on, I found it nigh-on impossible to tell whether what I was feeling was the movement of my unborn child, or something rather more prosaic. Like dinner being digested. In fact, a month or so ago I would only ever wonder out loud in this kind of way at a time of day when I was quiet enough to feel something very faint, and also when it was far away enough from a meal for me to be sure it wasn’t just my digestion.

I have been feeling very anxious to feel the baby move as well. Somehow, even after the positive pregnancy test, and the first scan, I was still very keen to get some additional evidence to show that this whole thing wasn’t a figment of my imagination. The first time when I was sure enough to be able to state categorically, ‘that was the baby’ rather than anything else was the morning before our holiday a couple of weeks ago. I was pleasantly dozing in bed, and turned over, and as I turned over I felt a kind of ‘whoosh’ inside my stomach. It was so strong, I felt to where my incipient bump was with one hand, and felt for a moment, very clearly, the baby poking out of one side of me. Then there was another ‘whoosh’-ing feeling, and it was gone. It was so vivid, and so unexpected, and so totally unlike anything else I’ve felt, that I not only totally woke up with a jump, but I spontaneously said out loud, in an awed whisper, "Wow…" even though I was the only person in the room.

Since then the movement was somewhat sporadic. Kind of wrigglings and churnings. It’s only over the past week or so that I’ve been able to feel what I know must be distinct kicks: a quick feeling just in one place. For ages now, whenever I say to Jack, "The baby’s moving about!" he has looked at me forlornly and hopefully, and occasionally even placed a hopeful hand over my growing bump. In doing so, he has often invited my scorn, "It’s FAR too early for you to be able to feel it!" I have scoffed. Or, "That’s not baby, that’s a baby-protective layer of salt and vinegar crisps which I have been building up over the past year."

Last night, however, as I lay in bed dozing, the baby was kicking with such determination, in just one place right in the middle of my bump, that just out of curiosity, I felt from the outside with one hand. I really wasn’t joking about the crisps. I had to feel about quite firmly to be sure I was in the right place. But once I was there, there was another kick, and I clearly felt not only the kicking sensation from inside, but also felt my hand, on the outside of me, give a definite jump. My face split in two in a huge sunshiney grin, I was so excited. But here was the thing: Jack was downstairs watching the crucial ‘whodunnit’ last three minutes of a two-hour crime drama…. what to do ?!

I kept my hand in place. Kick. Kick.
‘Foolish, really’, I reflected. Each kick I felt would probably be the last that the baby would deign to share with us. Kick . As soon as I called Jack he would be bound to turn away and go to sleep, or start kicking in another direction: upwards, or backwards. Kick.
Very foolish. Because the door was closed so I couldn’t call Jack from where I was. And getting up out of bed was bound to disturb the moment, swirling the baby off into the darkness of my insides, ready to kick another, less accessible, place where only I could feel him.
Kick, kick.

I leapt out of bed. "Ja-ack?!"
"Mmm-hmmm?" Jack is accustomed to being disturbed by me when I’m in bed. Often for requests for a drink of water, or a cup of tea.
"Have you finished watching Lewis?"
"Almost…"
"Oh… it’s just… it’s just that the baby is kicking and I CAN FEEL IT FROM THE OUTSIDE!"

Jack bounded up the stairs two at a time. "Really?!!" I took his hand, and pressed it on my stomach. "There. You’ll have to press quite firmly. He probably won’t kick again now."
Jack dutifully pressed his hand, "Like this?" and looked at me, his face open with wondering and potential delight.
"There, did you feel that?"
"No."
"Oh."
"Oh -hang on!"
"Did you feel that?"
"I felt that one!" And he smiled, and I smiled, and I felt the small kicks bouncing away inside me, and felt them hitting his hand… Jack’s face became pensive, "It’s a bit weird…" he said, contemplatively.
"Excuse me?" I pursed my lips up in mock disdain. "It’s a bit weird, FOR YOU, is it? Let me tell you, however weird it is for you, feeling the baby kick from the outside, it’s far weirder for me, feeling it on the inside and the outside."
"Fair enough…. oooh, another one!"

And he smiled at me again, and I smiled at him, smiling at me and at the baby. And for a moment it felt as though everything important in the whole world was inside our bedroom, in that tiny amount of space between his hand, my bump, and the thrashing small legs of the baby we’ll meet later this year.

with love,
therumtumtugger
xxx