Ok, I'm back. I don't know exactly what's been keeping me from blogging, but my mind has been totally exhaustified (new word!) by life and baby and toddler and...well, my new friend the Kitchen Aid mixer which is filling my time and my tummy with all kinds of yummy concoctions (HOW have I lived so long without one of these suckers?) Anywho...I'm back. Today's topic: how I am fully convinced I'm carrying a scurry of squirrels in my belly.
Now, I've heard crazy stories from mothers in the past. "I'm carrying David Beckham", "It's like there's an alien in there" and so on and so forth. I mean, this is not the first time I have experienced a creature growing inside me, kicking about to let the world know who is in there. Matilda was a mover, sure. I never had ANY trouble on the "kick counts" and she would often stick her foot out in response to me pressing in on my belly. But it was sweet, joyful....normal.
This new baby girl is, well, violent. Incessant sessions of acrobatic wonders are happening in there. Full body rolls that make you swear an ugly sea creature is going to burst through my belly button at any second. Freaky. Disturbing. Albeit wondrous, but...heavens to betsy, child! This baby can MOVE!
I felt Matilda's first flutters at 14 weeks, and that was pretty early for a first baby. This one I felt at 12 weeks, though I wasn't too surprised since they say you can often feel the second one move sooner (you know what you're actually feeling this time around!) And it hasn't stopped since.
Now in my third trimester, she is nearly fully developed and just "packing on the fat" (though critical development is still taking place - so, stay in there baby!) she is starting to run out of room in there. Evidently this does not suit her growing Pardy-gene-pool "monkey" arms and legs (thanks to her daddy, that is). And so, particularly in the evenings and nights, we get a good freak show (no tickets required) of my belly imitating a giant wave pool. Sometimes it shimmies. Sometimes it looks like the tectonic plates are surely shifting in there, causing an amniotic tsunami. Sometimes it looks like a caged spider monkey fighting to get free.
If it wasn't so incredibly marvelous to stare at, it would just plain hurt. Whew!
Yes, we are sure there is only one baby in there.
Yes, we are sure she is not an octopus.
No, we are not sure we are ready to keep up with her.
Baby, if your spirit and personality are any reflection of your movement, then I am excited to meet you and be inspired by your feisty lil self.