Alive and kicking

It’s a feeling I can’t describe. It’s like a tremor. A hollow thud. Sometimes it’s a flickering, a ripple. It’s a feeling that should happen with a sound, a pop, or with a spark of light.

It’s the baby moving around. Usually she waits until I’m sitting or lying down. If I’m hungry, she doesn’t stop until after I’ve eaten. She prods me, like she’s saying “Eat a cookie! It’s hungry in here!”. While I’m chewing that first bite, especially if I’m really hungry, she throws herself against the borders of her bubble in celebration (or castigation – “What took you so damn long? What does a fetus have to do to get some nutrition through their umbilical chord in here?!”).

Dylan felt her bumping up against me this weekend for the first time – and second time, and third time, and fourth time. He loves it, and tells her “Hello.”

Now’s about the time she can start hearing things from the outside world, so chances are, she’s listening. I imagine her waving to him, and pressing her teeny hand up against his from the other side of my skin. I imagine their hands touching, but not quite, like people trying to reach each other from either side of a window.


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