From the first moment I truly felt this baby, there was never anything I could describe in soft, fluffy language. No "flutters," no "bubbles popping," no "butterfly wings," no, nothing even sort of resembling that. It has always been like "HEY, I'M STILL IN HERE! PAY ATTENTION TO ME!" (He must get that need for attention from his dad). I most fondly think of him as a very feisty hockey puck, sliding around and slamming into whatever various bones and organs happen to be in his way.
Actually, I was in the doctor's office and she was listening to his little heart beat when I felt him move for the first time. And felt him I did. I had just been telling her I hadn't felt him at all and she reassured me I would and he was fine, blah blah blah. When I felt that kick, you could even hear it loud and clear across the doppler. She felt him push away the doppler wand. My doctor looked at me and asked if I felt it, and I'm pretty sure if I'd say no she would have promptly signed me up for some testing because I couldn't have ANY nerve endings if I'd missed that kick.
As he's getting bigger and running out of room, it's pure entertainment... for Seth. He laughs as he feels (and sees) hands flail, elbows crash around, feet pounding. The other night, he did something that was the strangest sensation ever and Seth and I both kinda screamed it was so weird. I find it less amusing at times when I'm in serious meetings and trying to keep my entire body from jolting at the force.
I've come to the conclusion that there's only one logical explanation. Somehow a pinball machine got stuck in there, and the regular, shiny little metal ball was replaced with a bowling ball.
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