So. The kicking.
It's pretty cool. I've got to say, I'm a fan.
And however deluded this probably is, it feels like a way to communicate. Like she's saying "hey there, remember me? How's it going out there? What are you up to? I'm thinking about maybe going crazy and seeing if my left foot and my right foot can kick your bladder at the same time. How about that?"
Not that I think she's being malicious or anything--I imagine it's this thing that grows (enormously, all the time) and takes up her much needed space, and she needs to remind me to empty it out (constantly).
And there is definitely a pattern to the movements. They don't always come when I'm resting, like the books say. No, they often come when I'm trying really hard to concentrate on something, and I immediately fail because hey! There's a baby in there!
A big baby. A baby whose movements can be felt by outside hands weeks--months--ahead of schedule. And oh, yes, they can be felt, it is not just tactile hallucination. I looked down at one point and saw my dress move. This chick kicks hard.
Also she likes food.
Not all food--red meat seems to make her sleepy. (Makes sense, red meat makes everybody sleepy). But she's big fan of apple juice, and spicy foods make her excited (and don't bother me at all anymore, so I'm choosing to interpret her activity as happy excitement), and oh lordy, five or six bites into a Pinkberry and she's rolling around in ecstasy.
I'm completely enamored by the idea of her being able to taste what I taste by swallowing the amniotic fluid. So much fun. I'm running out and trying various crazy foods--here Roo, this is a Kati roll. Yummy, huh? What do you think of brussels sprouts? Ooh, try some pho.
I've really got to start indoctrinating this kid with the Hawaiian foods. Must get to L&L and order a feast of laulau and chicken katsu curry and spam musubi.
Let Dave take over the musical taste-making. I've got the food covered.
Of course, it feels like that's about the only thing I've got covered these days. Between the scalding heat and my back's sudden decision to stop doing its job of, you know, being straight and holding its weight and not making me gasp in pain, I feel a little under seige.
I think the back is mad at me for how I sleep. But I'm not seeing a lot of options here. Given the dangers of sciatica and the squishing of some very important artery that sleeping on your back entails, that's out. And sleeping on my belly is about as comfortable as attempting to sleep on a beachball that kicks back.
So that leaves the sides. But despite using a body pillow, Dave, whatever, that doesn't seem to be working either, and my hips and back have just about had enough of this. And I've had just about enough of them.
We're going to take a little time out, 'kay? Hips and back, you guys just go sit over there and chill for a while. I'll be in the pool with a frozen margarita. Roo likes the taste of tequila.
Oh, if only it were so.