I think I cursed myself by talking about how awkward my weekly photos were. I was actually really excited to do them this week because we have The Camera, and The Camera would no doubt make me look *amazing* in every conceivable way, I’d do two perfectly lit and styled shots and BOOM! I could go about my day!
The issue, friends, is light. The hallway I have chosen to do my pictures for the past 23 weeks is one of the darkest spots in our home. And I don’t know how long you have to take pictures before you’re allowed talking about the light, but damn girl, THE LIGHT is not good!
Give me a pass for this week. I will study my little manual and discover how to eliminate both shadows and double chins come next week!
23 Weeks will be remembered as the week we felt “The Foot”. This is probably the weirdest thing I have ever experienced and I do so wish I had been able to capture the look on Adam’s face.
So, as elucidated the other day , Baby G has been kicking up a Pele-sized storm whist in utero. The movements have formed a pretty discernible pattern for the moment, a few jabs hello when I roll over and wake up in the morning, lots of activity around 2-4 pm and then another flurry when I lie down at the end of the day.
We first felt “The Foot” during one such end-of-day relaxation sesh. We were sitting on our couch, Adam was guffawing loudly along with the laugh track to that abominable excuse for a television show, The Big Bang Theory.
(Tangent: I HATE YOU CHUCK LORRE! YOU AND EVERYTHING YOU CREATE, AND EVERYTHING YOU STAND FOR! /End tangent)
I was sighing deeply and rolling my eyes as emphatically as I could, hoping that my extremely vocal discontent would force him to switch to something more mutually enjoyable.
And just when I thought I would lose my mind over those ridiculously stereotyped characters who speak one line and then pause for ten seconds for the “audience” to laugh, I started feeling baby’s nightly percussion.
Grateful for the distraction, I grabbed Adam’s hand and put it on my belly and we were both sitting there feeling my belly bounce around, laughing and joking about how strong the kicks were, how Adam is sure that this means the Demon Baby is a boy.
And then. THEN, we felt it. About an inch or two above my belly button there came an intense pressure, a stretching, extending, pushing feeling. And whereas the kicks mostly feel like a muscle twitch, quick and fast, this was almost, exploratory.
Internets, it was so clearly a FOOT. And I don’t mean that we could feel toes or the rounded definition of a heel, but it was this tiny, specific area and the way it was pushing and the strength and MY GOD that was our baby’s foot that we felt, separated by nothing more than a few layers of fat and muscle (ha!) and thin uterine walls.
I was completely unprepared for the fact that we would be able to feel something that clearly, with that specificity and definition.
It went on for a good two or three minutes while Adam and I gaped at each other in amazement. The movement was so slow and purposeful, controlled. (and if it was controlled, the thought followed, there must be something, someone controlling it! It’s ALIVE!)
Adam would gently push his fingers into my belly and The Foot would push back. Back and forth, and back and forth it went, this stretching sort of game of hide and seek.
ARE YOU HEARING THIS? Seriously. I have a living thing inside of me, one that can control it’s own foot!
I keep re-living that moment, and the expressions of shock and awe and amazement and (yes) complete weirded out-ness that flitted over Adam’s face as he tried to comprehend what, exactly, was happening.
On Friday I have an appointment with a maternal fetal medicine specialist, who can hopefully shed some light on how my kidney condition will affect pregnancy and birth. These are the people who can give a definite yay or nay to a home birth, based on specific risk factors unique to my condition, so I’m hoping to charm the pants off of them with my obvious health and vitality (?).
And while Adam has been an absolute champ about appointments so far, (he has voluntarily accompanied me to every single one, even my nephrologist appointments), he won’t be able to be there on Friday.
For the most part his presence hasn’t been necessary, strictly speaking, most of the midwife appointments are pretty routine but nonetheless I so appreciate that he has wanted to be there, has volunteered to be there, made arrangements with work in order to be there and has done it all of his own accord.
For this appointment on Friday however, he isn’t able to come and although my god it truly doesn’t matter if it’s one person hearing the news or two, it does feel sort of strange to be suddenly embarking on a tiny portion of this journey solo.
Well, not entirely solo. I’ll have The Foot.