I first felt Oscar fluttering around in my tummy at 15 weeks. By 18 weeks, it was like I had David Beckham in there. He was kicking the tar out of me. By 21 weeks, you could see my belly moving with the force of his kicks and punches, and Nelson felt his son for the first time.
I felt the sprout swimming around 12 weeks. Gentle little flutters, like popcorn or gas bubbles in my lower abdomen. Twas sweet bliss. Then, nothing for three weeks, until standing at the meat counter in the grocery store. There were several real kicks. Then, nothing again. For weeks.
On Saturday, I finally confessed to Nelson that I was a little worried. There I was, at 19 weeks, and feeling nary a flutter, and I hadn't felt one for nearly a month.
"Could something be wrong," he asked me, clearly worried.
And, at that very instance, the sprout decided to make itself known with a serious series of flutters and kicks.
"Nope, it's fine. I feel it."
And since then it's been a nearly constant presence, reminding me that there really is a baby in this gigantic belly of mine, tapping out some kind of baby morse code. A baby that Nelson and I will see for the first time during our ultrasound this Friday. A baby that I'll be holding in my arms in four and a half short months.
This whole pregnancy is starting to feel much more real.