|From 5 Minutes for Parenting|
The baby boy inside of me moves. A lot. He kicks and jabs and turns and rolls. There are times my abdomen feels like a super-flex garbage bag that can handle the sharpest pokes and prods. There are other times my belly looks like the waves of an ocean storm, heaving and reaching and falling under the guidance from my little resident alien.
Funny thing, though: No one else has ever felt him move. I just can’t seem to get the timing right. Every time – every time – I say to my husband, “Holy cow! This boy is MOVING! Put your hand here,” the movement stops. Or the baby turns in such a way that the kicks are more internal than external.
It’s getting to be comical. My husband felt our other children kick, and he trusts that I really am growing a human and not just gorging on leftover birthday cake. (Although that's true as well.) He always humors me by sitting patiently with his hands on my ever-widening tummy for a few minutes when I insist that this time, this time, it will work. And then, eventually, when no movement is forthcoming, he’ll grin at me and say, “Sure babe. Whatever.” And he'll return to his TV show or his book or his coffee.
And then – inevitably – the baby will kick at the exact spot his father’s hands lingered a minute ago, as if to say, “Ha! Gotcha again!”
Kelly is 24 weeks pregnant with her fourth baby, who appears to be a baby boy intent on destroying his mother's sanity before he's even born. She also blogs at Love Well.