23 May 2011

The Miracle of Movement

I've been trying to come up with words to describe the sensation of womb movement. Sounds weird, right?  "Womb Movement"... I tell you what, this baby is a total wiggle worm.  I had the slightest awareness of the sensation that my little passenger was exploring his space around 18 weeks.  Right around week 22, I began to suspect that I'm in for it.  Around that time is when the lil' nugget must have learned how to lace up his dancin' shoes.  Now, at 27 weeks he seems to have figured out how to thoroughly enjoy his amniotic playground.  Sometimes he seems to be trying out for soccer practice, and other times he like to play hide-and-seek with himself.

There are moments when movement on both sides of my abdomen lead me to believe the ultrasound techs are picking up only one of the two passengers who are actually in there.  << A friend of  mine, who is a twin, proudly proclaimed to me that when his mother was pregnant with him and his brother, they only ever saw his forearm.  They didn't know there were two until close to delivery. Of course my mind likes to run wild with the notion that this could happen to me, too.  Perhaps all this movement is actually attributable to 2 babies. >> Or maybe it's that he's practicing jumping jacks.

Some people describe a fluttering sensation.  Others describe a sense of something swimming around in there.  Personally, I don't find either of these descriptions accurate.  To be sure, there are different kinds of action.  To have the experience of a small being growing in your abdomen that moves independently of yourself is all kinds of disconcerting at first.  It has become much more entertaining as I've gotten used to my little passenger's activity.  I'm sure as the time for delivery gets closer << and his living quarters get tighter >> , all the action is going to get old- especially when my kidneys are bruised, my bladder is crushed, and my ribs get pressed.  For now, it's still completely, totally, absolutely lovely.  To describe the sensation with real words takes effort. Here goes.

First, there's the Hand Stand.  I swear the kid's balancing on his hands upside down kicking those little feetsies directly into my diaphragm.  When he wasn't quite so big, I could sense his little hands pushing straight down on my abdomen. Now that he's longer than a foot in length << $5 Footlong, anyone? >>, his kickers reach all the way up to my lungs.  No kidding.  He's getting pretty darn talented at kicking the wind right out of his momma.
Then there's the Chicken Dance.  You know the one.  For the first round, he moves his little hands like they're chicken beaks. Then he flaps his little arms like chicken wings. Then he shakes his little heinie and lowers down like a chicken on the verge of laying an egg.  Our little man loves to practice his sweet dance moves in the middle of the night, just after I've gotten up to pee.  It's ridiculous, and it makes us fall into giggle fits every night, in the middle of the night.

Then we have The Jumping Jack.  This is by far the most exciting << or bizarre, if you're not used to witnessing an actual parasite moving beneath the skin of a loved one... yes, I just referred to my baby as a parasite >> .  If you watch my belly when the munchkin's getting in his daily cardio, you'll see action on both sides. Hands and arms pump upward on the left side, while feet and legs kick outward on the right side.  If he's facing inward, you can actually feel the curve of his spine across the bump.

He's got a trick to show you: the Rollover.  His big brother Rolo has a small bag of tricks that he knows how to do, on-command and for a treat, which include Sit, Down, Rollover, Shake, and Stay.  Little Brother is already unwilling to be outdone by Big Brother, and he's unafraid at anytime to show me that he, too, can roll over.  I can hear it already, "Mommy, watch this!"

And finally, there's Soccer Tryouts.  Our little athlete gets confused about when it's time to rest and when it's time to compete.  Typically it's late at night, and just as I lay down to unwind before bed, he laces up his cleats to go tear up the turf.  And someone thought it would be a clever idea to implant a fetal soccer ball for him to kick around in there.  This move might be our favorite for the simple fact that the hubs and I typically experience it together as we're getting ready for bed.  The little dude likes to put on a show.

For the record, I'm developing this sneaking suspicion that, in light of my son's confusion about when it's playtime and when it's sleepy time, coupled with his absolute love of attention, we're going to have an athletic and energetic little ball of BOY.

Who wants to sign up to be on the 3 am Call List when he's wide awake and ready to play, and the both of us are running on fumes?

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