Baby Gym

Since I found out I was pregnant, I’ve been coming to terms with the fact that my body is not really my own anymore. For the first two months, this was mostly a nice, warm-fuzzy sort of thing to think about–inside me, although I couldn’t really perceive it, someone was growing.

The next two months, I got sick. While this meant that my pants all fit much longer than I thought they would, the nice warm-fuzzy thought of a baby growing inside changed. I still loved that little lump of person inside me, but it was making me really sick…kind of like a parasite.

At 20 weeks, after the big ultrasound, we got a little taste of what the baby looked like (Erik’s already convinced she has my nose…), and about the same time I figured out that what I thought felt like gas bubbles was really a moving baby. Within a few weeks, Erik and I were watching my belly move and jiggle for entertainment.
The last few weeks, the kicking was fun to watch. Family members are keeping score about who’s felt the baby and who hasn’t. (So far-Mom, my sister Emily, Grandma Garry, and cousins Katrina, Peter, and Elena…)
But now, it is finally clear that my body is inhabited by someone else. We have moved from kicking to shoving at the edges and holding. I am a baby gym.
This kid is practicing for the Olympics, either gymnastics or the ski jump. At least she can’t reach my rib cage yet…

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