The first time I felt it, I wasn’t sure what it was. It felt like my heart was beating in my abdomen, but not pumping very hard. I was quietly lying in bed in the morning next to A., enjoying the sunlight streaming through the window, when I felt three separate flutters. I turned to A.: “I think I just felt the baby.” I wasn’t sure — and I was only 16 weeks along.
It happened again that Wednesday evening during prenatal yoga. I was propped up on blocks and two blankets, rubbing my belly, when I felt three light touches. A butterfly grazing my insides.
I didn’t feel it again for another two weeks, though I was growing outward. It felt like a light touch…a fingertip gently trying to get my attention. Tapping me lightly. “Hey! I’m in here!”
The taps have turned more forceful. Still gentle, but unmistakable. “Hellooo! Im really in here.” At first I’d feel it once or twice in a row, and I’d put A.’s hand on my left side, but the baby would quiet. A father’s soothing touch. When we were going to sleep in Seattle at the end of our road trip, down in the spare room in the basement of A.’s friend’s house, the baby kicked at least 7 times in a row. A. gently cupped his hand on my belly and when the kick came, I said, “Did you feel that?” A.’s face lit up. “Woah!” he said. To me, it felt like a poke, but A. says he felt the reverberation.
On Sunday, as I curled up on the couch next to A. to watch The Last Picture Show (he’s introducing me to some classics), the baby was dancing. Bump. Knock. Tap. At least 15 times.
Now I feel more connected to the little being growing inside of me that’s a little more than a pound, but I still can’t imagine what he or she will look like. Will he have Adam’s eyes? Will she have my smile? Either way, I’m reassured when the little one is moving around, letting me know that all is OK.