The baby has been perceptibly kicking for about a week now. Well, perceptibly in the sense that I'm sure it's the baby and not anything else.
It is REALLY cool.
When I realized what was happening, I was not even totally sure I believed it. My thought process was more along the lines of, "whoa...was that? I think...COOL!" And I sat on the couch, furiously poking my stomach, hoping to piss the kid off and make her kick me some more. In a confusing development, she did not kick again. It appeared she did not seem to be easily annoyed, didn't seem to care how much she got poked. This made no sense- did she get my father's personality?! Sweet! We just won the Easygoing Kid Lottery! Score one for Team R.
Then I realized: Baby heads to soccer practice when it suits her. I can poke all I want, if she's not kicking, she's not kicking. Period. She likes to kick in the morning, and at scattered intervals throughout the day, but she will determine those times. Nobody tells THIS little Chickpea when to kick anything. Right. A trait she could've easily inherited from either one of us, which is nice because neither of us can blame the other, heh.
I was sort of worried before this happened, that I would find it creepy. Because, to be totally honest, when I *really* think about the fact that there is another human being inside my body, it sort of, well, creeps me out. I feel a bit like a kangaroo. Or an alient host, or something. I know that sounds really bad, it's just the truth. Humans replicate by growing new humans inside of other humans. Think about it for a second. Not creeped out? You have a weak imagination. Anyway. I worried that feeling the baby kick would make it all a little too...vivid? I'm not sure. I was pretty sure I wouldn't be one of those women who stopped everything they were doing, lightly touched a hand to their belly, and heard choirs of angels the first time they felt their baby kick. I was right about that. I'm glad to be wrong about the creepy factor. Every time the baby kicks, all I can think is, "Do it again! That is so cool! Do it again!"
And so, of course, she stops. Turd.
On a related note, the Big Ultrasound is in two weeks. We are not finding out the sex of the baby (I've referred to the baby as female here because it's easier and "it" just sounds really bad), or at least, we're hoping not to. I'm completely convinced that, mid-ultrasound, the baby is going to flip over and spread his or her legs and we won't be able to look away fast enough. I can't tell you how much that would bum me out. So much, in fact, that it's actually distracted me from worrying about the baby having some dread condition like hypoplastic left heart or true Dandy-Walker Syndrome. Which is really only partly good, actually, because as we all know, remembering to worry about things keeps them from happening.