Lately all the pregnancy manuals (which if I were a wiser woman I might just stop reading), are talking about that euphoric moment when you feel the first kicks, those butterfly flutters that you realize aren't just gas pains, but a living being in your belly. I've been a little perplexed about this quickening, worrying some that I'm delayed, that my baby is developmentally unskilled at providing the kinds of kicks worthy of a ballet or soccer field (whichever he or she decides to flourish in, I'm rooting for tai chi myself).
At the last doctor's appointment, when the doctor smothered the Wesson oilish stuff on my belly and rubbed the Doppler machine over my already swollen stomach, we heard the quick swishing, swishing of the heartbeat, punctuated by lots of static. The doctor said, "Those are kicks you're hearing. You've got a pretty active baby in there." So, whenever I get anxious about not feeling the baby myself, I just repeat Dr. S.'s mantra, "It's an active baby in there...it's an active baby in there..." over and over until I feel better, or imagine I feel something.
And then, yesterday morning, whilst lying in bed on my back, Cooper, the 22lb. tomcat decided to come a calling. He's learning that he can no longer pounce on my belly in a desperate attempt for some human lovin'. But, he still seems to feel the need to slowly explore with his front paws my growing belly. He'll come up next to me and with an exploratory paw get ready to navigate my middle section. Usually, it's at this point that I stop him in mid-pounce and redirect his efforts. However, yesterday morning I was a little sleepy, a little slow with the reflexes, and Cooper's paw landed a little too heavily on my belly, at which point the baby gave a resounding kick back.
So, for the record, that would be baby: 1. Cooper: 0. Let the games begin.