And So It Begins...

Last night, I noticed something strange.

My belly felt completely... still.

As in, lacking all movement.

As I've mentioned in previous posts, my baby is ANYTHING but still. She is all about figuring out how many ways she can kick/punch/headbutt/shoulder jab Mama. The nightly dance party rages into the wee hours of the morning.

I tried to tell myself she was just sleeping, that she finally wore her little body out and needed some rest.

But when I woke up around 3 am, it wasn't because of the usual middle-of-the-night rib smack, nor was it Adele trying to eat my face. This time, it was sheer anxiety that shook me from my slumber.

I poked. I prodded. I even tried patting the belly like a bongo drum.

Nothing. Nothing. Even more nothing.

By my shower at 6:45, I started to panic. What's going on? She can't be sleeping. There is no way she's suddenly chosen a life of good behavior.

I trudged into work, sat down and nearly burst into tears. Something was wrong. I could feel it. One of my co-workers suggested I put something cold on the belly, to freeze the chick out of hiding. But not even five straight minutes of Fresca on skin (and Mama's pride) could get my baby to budge.

I am lucky to work with incredibly supportive people, who wished me well as I rushed off to my doctor's office for a visit with the fetal heart monitor.

Sitting in the oversized armchair with wires and devices attached to my belly, I finally heard the sound I was so desperate to hear.

And two seconds later, she kicked. Hard.

This time, I really did burst into tears. And I realized in that moment how much I already adore my kid, even though we haven't officially met.

Somehow I know this new kind of worry will never really go away. Because to love someone this much, can be downright terrifying.