I take the lunar eclipse as a very good sign, since tomorrow is my appointment with the specialist. I finally will have some answers as to this RH mess, and, if we are lucky, we get to find out the sex of the baby! The former has me somewhat anxious, however, knowing that my father will be there, along with Vincent gives me some comfort. Plus, since I have not received any emergency calls from the specialist to tell me that they urgently need me to come in, I think I can safely assume that the situation is not at a critical point.
Being a first time mom, it is hard to decipher whether or not those twitches are the kicks of the baby I feel! However, I am pretty certain that those initial pops and flutters were the movements of the baby after all.
My friend tried to describe how they felt for her. Cleverly, she described them as being akin to “gas bubbles.” Unfortunately, I had to admit, “I’m afraid I don’t know what that feels like either.” Apparently (at least I think so) I am incredibly lucky. Or (and this is more likely) due to my significant diet change, consisting of no carbonated drinks for the most part, meats, veggies, and cheeses (as few carbs as possible thanks!), I’m afraid I don’t know what gas bubbles are, or what the whole mess about being gassy is all about.
I think though, that my problem was I am searching for too logical of a definition as to what those kicks should feel like. I read over many more descriptions (popcorn popping, flutters, butterflies) and was always second guessing myself. Who knows for exactly how long I have felt these movements and doubted them, or passed them off as my uterus expanding. So... whoops. Lesson learned. Babies aren’t an exact science, even if we treat them as such.
So… with the baby moving about, the lunar eclipse, and after finding out today that one of my old friends from high school, who also lives here in San Antonio, is one month pregnant, I must say I am a happy person! Not to mention, I saw my mother for a couple of days (Friday and Saturday), and since she lives all the way in Michigan, it was wonderful to see her, even if it was only for a short amount of time. My mother and father spoiled me like crazy, I must admit. I got maternity clothes too. In the past week (ever since I crossed that four month mark), I’ve exploded! It’s amazing the difference a pair of maternity pants can make. It definitely helped my ego a bit. I can see how some women get so depressed, and/or start to dress poorly. After all, it’s such a strange phase, to go from not showing, to starting to look like you’re eating too much chocolate, to being bulbous. Thankfully, my parents were there to help me, and give me back my glow. Now, I can sport my baby bump with some style, and I think that’s very important to a mother-to-be’s health, almost as much as her Prenatal vitamins. After all, the worse you feel about yourself, the more stress and depression you are passing on to your baby. We are often terribly concerned about the physical side of our child’s development, but I think mentally our own well being must play a large role in all of this as well and yet it is often times ignored.
Also, while my mother was in town, Vincent’s parents met mine. It was a quiet meeting, on Friday evening, in my father’s living room. Vince’s little sister, Miranda was there, listening to her headphones, and I imagine incredibly bored. I remember being that age, in foreign places while “adults” talked. I certainly empathized with her throughout the night, and hope that I never forget to have that ability, no matter how much older I get. Still, I was happy that she kept herself as occupied as possible. Vince’s mother and stepfather each had a beer, while light discussion commenced between them and my own parents. Vincent and I were quiet but for a few things. For the most part, it was light, “safe” subjects, with minor pauses of awkward silence which were quickly filled with more talk. Yet, I must admit, on our end I believe things went nicely. For such a strange meeting, it would be ridiculous for me to expect that they would have engaging conversations. In fact, the comfort that we achieved is probably the very best we could have hoped for. Vincent has yet to hear back from his parents as to whether or not they cared for us at all. Oh well, with families one can never be too sure.
On a funnier note, Vincent managed to kick me in the stomach last night. First hit taken to the gut since I became pregnant. Completely by accident, of course, although I like to joke with him that it was his subconscious acting out.
You see, his car doors can currently only be opened from the inside. We plan to have them fixed after Christmas, but for now he has to crawl through the trunk before opening the doors for me. His trunk, however, also has the issue that the bars which normally prop the trunk open (for say, when you are loading a large amount of groceries) are not working, and so I usually hold the trunk open while he crawls through (btw, he has an Eclipse, two door, sporty, and older, for anyone trying to imagine the car). It was late, and I was not only standing too close, but forgot I’m bigger. So as he swung his foot up, in the same manner you would to throw your leg over a horse, it came right up and smack! Into the baby! And I mean, right into the baby, not my upper tummy or my thigh. Immediately, we both started laughing.
“You are so lucky that when I get hurt, my endorphins kick in,” I managed between giggles. If the baby was peaceful, he sure as heck woke her up with that!
His reaction? “Oh my god. Don’t ever tell the baby I did that.”
Of course, tummies and babies are resilient. It would be an overreaction for me to really assume an angry stance, or to think anything might have actually happened. My friend Pat warned me that toddlers have no respect for moms, and have pummeled into her belly once or twice. If every little to medium hit caused damage there’d be very few babies at all! We have to be able to take some amount of damage (not that I’m condoning it!). Still, it has been a pleasure to make all sorts of threats to Vincent, such as, “If something goes wrong, it’s officially your fault,” and, “I’m going to tell my father!” How can I resist? After all, he used to accuse me in the same sarcastic, playful manner, “If something’s wrong, it’s because you drank too much,” or, “smoked too much,” or, “ate badly.”
Finally, some payback!
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