As I believe I described in my post about my first trimester carrying The Colonel, I’ve had a very easy pregnancy so far. No nausea, no throwing up, no wicked mood swings (I don’t think…you’d have to ask Ron), very modest weight gain, the fact that I’m still fitting into all my regular clothes, etc. It’s been great, and I send up gratitude for my gestational blessings on a very regular basis, but, I have to admit, this all “feeling so normal” thing has also made it more difficult for me to really grasp onto the idea that I’m pregnant, and that there’s actually a real person GROWING IN THERE.
Yeah. A person. Growing. Inside of me. Really? Are you sure I’m not just being punk’d?
Sure, there’s been plenty of proof. Three positive pregnancy tests, the complete ceasing of my formerly regular-as-clockwork-whether-on-the-Pill-or-not period, two visits to the doctor where we got to hear the fast and beautiful “shoe-shoe-shoe” of The Colonel’s heartbeat and, of course, the hour-long ultrasound for our first trimester screening back in January where I could hardly tear my eyes away from the gangly, bouncing, uterine circus performer on the screen in front of us. Oh, and the unprecedented craving for blueberry pancakes. That’s just been ridiculous. But, I have to admit, up until this past week, there were still times where it felt less than real, like it somehow could’ve all just been a big mix-up.
And then I felt The Colonel move.
The people who know about these things call it “quickening.” I honestly wasn’t sure of what I was feeling at first. I probably even passed it off as gas or digestive rumblings the first few times. But it kinda kept happening every so often, and I ultimately realized that, no, this was different. In my 18th week of pregnancy, basically right on schedule for a first-time mom, I was feeling my baby move. And then, holy shit, did it get real fast.
So, what does it feel like right now? Well, it’s been a variety pack of different combinations of fluttering, flipping, popping. It’s a little something turning over. It’s bubble wrap in my belly. It’s there and then it’s gone, just a reminder from my son or daughter that, “Hey Mom, it’s just me. I’m in here doing my thing. Looking very much forward to kicking you in the ribs and speedball boxing your bladder in a few months.”
Colonel, I love you already, but please remember, for the foreseeable future, I control your access to cookies, cell phones and cars. It would behoove you to go easy on the bladder, ‘K, munchkin? Love, Mama.