So, here's the rub. I've been looking towards feeling the first kicks with a mixture of excitement and dread. It's a real catch-22 for me. One one hand, those kicks signify the most amazing, physical reminder that there's a LIVE human inside my lady parts. On the other, there's someone in there who could be dead, too.
But now's when I start to really let panic seep in. I remember that day all too well when there were no kicks, no flutters, no hiccups, no nothin' at all in there. And let me tell you, that feeling was sickening.
So when this baby makes itself known, as it already has, it's amazing, and amazingly frightening all at once.
The worst part of feeling your baby move is waiting for it to happen again.
Especially in these early days of feeling, when it's little more than a fleeting flutter, a gentle nudge from the deep. One minute it's there, the next, nothing.
And waiting in between, during the nothings, is excruciating.
This weekend was overwhelmingly busy for us. E's birthday, Fathers' Day, LIFE--by Sunday afternoon C and I could barely keep our eyes open. We ate like crap, we got little sleep, we had an overly excited 2 year old wanting to play with every birthday present at once. And at every turn, I was waiting for another little flutter.
My mind was racing, a broken record skipping, "Thebabyisdeadthebabyisdeadthebabyisdead . . . " but trying not to panic. Yet. Fortunately there's still a tiny piece of rational thinking left in there. Somedays, in this early part, you can go for a good long while in between feeling anything.
Did I mention the gigantic ovarian cyst I have, too? Oh, the fun doesn't stop. This sucker is bigger than the baby--picture a 2 pound water balloon nestled snugly in my lower abdomen. Yeah, that could have something to do with the difficulty finding the heartbeat via dop-tone, and feeling anything consistently. Universe forbid anything be EASY.
Anyway. I was still in mild undertones of panic this morning, and suddenly, more bubbles. More flutters.