It’s not a flutter

I don’t care what they say about what it feels like when you first feel the baby move. Because it’s nothing like what they say.

It’s not a fluttering feeling of butterflies gently flapping their precious wings and brushing against your belly.
It’s not a tickling sensation. No reverse goochie-goochie-goo!
It’s not even bubbles that delicately pop in slow motion. Oh no.

It starts in a way they don’t really want to tell you, because it’s not pretty or feminine. It starts feeling like gas. Like your intestines are really going through something rough, and in weird places – like right below your belly button. And once you realize – horray, it’s not gas! – and you realize that it is in fact your baby moving, you’ll have already progressed to the other unfeminine feeling: like a fish flopping in your belly. Just a little fish, flip flopping around in there. Goosh, goosh, goosh.

And just as you get used to your little flexible-boned mackerel, the bones harden, thereby starting the full-on assault on your abdomen. Your gentle butterfly kisses now scream “Get me outta here!” and you’ll be attacked from every angle from now until that happens. At 10am, at 4am, at 3pm, at lunchtime, in the middle of meetings, while washing dishes, or trying to fall asleep.

Couldn’t you just whisper, “Hey mom, are you awake? Can I cuddle?” instead?

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