A few weeks ago, I felt the first flutterings in the general area of my womb that could've been attributed to Junior's active limbs. I've been paying attention for more certain signs of movement, but I didn't get a clear "Yes, this is definitely Baby kicking" until last week. I had just indulged in a plate of nuggets and fries, my usual late-night snack. I was laying in bed, watching a taped episode of The Simpsons. I decided to press in slightly to see if I could get a definite response from this thing growing inside me. Sure enough, I got a mild little thunk back that couldn't be anything other than Junior. So I had Mark repeat the process. Evidently we had annoyed or excited the kid, because Baby responded to Mark's mild pressure with a vehement soccer kick that most likely could've been seen had Mark's hand not been on my Big Fat Belly.
The best part about feeling Baby move is the reassurance and realization it brings. This child is no longer just something that makes me exhausted and sick. I have regular tangible evidence that this is a person, living and growing and learning and preparing itself for Real Life. It's amazing what these kicks have done for me. I've slept so much better. And the mornings have been so smooth, almost even normal. I'm still a little tired during the day, but it's not the bone weary exhaustion it's been. I feel more energized. Of course, this could just be a couple of good days and the swing back is somewhere on the horizon. But I feel pretty damn good right now, and that's what counts.
I do find it really strange that when I was just "sick" with no real tangible evidence of pregnancy (beyond that which could be obtained at a doctor's office) I couldn't feel normal. But now that I've got a creature kicking me from the inside, I'm back to my usual self. Pregnancy sometimes seems so bizarre as to be an abberation, not a normal part of life.