Baby movement is my favorite physical experience ever. It is the coolest, weirdest thing imaginable. Like being possessed, but in a good way. Every time a little elbow or knee nudges me from the inside, I remember that there's a whole one-pound person in there. This is why we need "awesome" back from the slang world.
This little girl has been moving like crazy this week. (She flipped around so much during last week's ultrasound that the sonographer started to get a little frustrated.) I feel more movement every day. Every now and then, the baby jumps so forcefully that it startles me and I jump. Sometimes I see her move.
I'm almost certain the baby can hear me now. I talk to her a little every day and use her first name. (
We're still working on a middle name. Update: BABY GIRL HAS A FULL NAME!!! A "runners up" post is coming soon, but we won't share the final name until she's born.) What she really seems to like hearing is music. When I sing Mike Doughty's "I Just Want the Girl in the Blue Dress to Keep on Dancing," the baby taps along. She doesn't know that she already has two blue dresses, neither of which will fit her until she's old enough to pull up on the ottoman and dance.
My belly has started to get in the way when I hug Rob. He's only been able to feel a couple of taps so far, and Westley still hasn't been lucky enough to catch a kick.
We got a little arty this week.
The only person who is more interested in this pregnancy than I am is Westley. Oh my God, you guys! He is an insane person! (He's worse than the grandmothers!)
Not a day goes by that Westley doesn't talk about how he's going to hold the baby, or play with the baby, or put her in her car seat—which is currently still his car seat until the booster seat arrives, but "That's okay. I will share with the baby." The three (four?) of us were standing in line at Starbucks when Westley announced loudly, "Mommy, I'm so glad you're pregnant!" On Saturday he told Rob and me that when the baby wakes up and cries in the night, he will "bring her to your room to nurse." Every time Westley hugs me he says, "That was a present for the baby."
Westley's excitement is very sweet, but it also worries me in a way I can't quite explain. He seems a little over-involved, but I'm not sure why I think this is a problem. It's not like he's going to reach under his chin and pull off the full-face latex mask, revealing his true identity as a baby-loathing, mustache-twirling super villain.
Maybe Westley's enthusiasm just bothers me because almost everything seems to bother me now. I am suddenly very irritable. Things that would normally annoy me (giant SUVs parked in compact spots, pushy four-year-olds, Rick Santorum) make me want to throw rocks. Things that don't usually phase me (a broken drinking fountain, Rob's not wanting to play in the dirt, expired coupons) put me into full-on pout-mode. It's extremely unflattering. Yesterday, Westley refused to turn off the light over the dining table when ALL the curtains and blinds were open, letting in beautiful daylight. "I need to see what I'm doing!" he whined. I nearly threw a temper tantrum. I was hoping pregnancy would make me a little more grown-up and assertive. Instead, it's made me regress.
Even through the crankiness, I am grateful that things are progressing so normally. It's wonderful to be feeling healthy. I'm especially glad to be past the stage of "pregnancy cravings" ("If I don't eat French fries with ranch dressing right now I will die!") and back to regular, everyday cravings. I eat a fresh orange every day, and every day it's the best thing I've ever tasted. I still have a tremendous sweet tooth though, which amuses Rob to no end. I'm usually one to want guacamole for dessert, but fill me up with girl-baby and I'm all, "Oooh, pie!"
Just not too much pie. Things are expanding fast enough on their own, thank you.
P.S. What a difference 11 weeks make!