Day 60: All the ways I’ve described baby’s kicks

A Hulk in training

I remember the first kick — the tiny little knock in my belly that I undeniably knew was our baby moving.

Before, it was little sensations and rumblings, mostly right around the 6:30pm mark when I would lie back on the couch for a few minutes and wonder if it was him or just my imagination.

But then one evening, I had forgotten to take my Unisom, and was doomed to a 2-4am wake window of my own (the opposite of a siesta, when I think about it). I lay in bed, trying to relax my mind and hopefully pull myself back into a slumber, when I realized I might not be the only one awake.

I placed my hand on my belly. I was just beginning to show and getting used to my stomach being bigger than it ever had been. Touching it felt alien during those first few weeks of growth, like it wasn’t my body and my hands had no business being there.

But then, there it was. A little thump. Right in the center of my palm.

I’m here!

And oh how his kicks have grown and changed. Most sources describe the early movements as “flutters” — an adequate description, I suppose. But then I came across someone else describe the sensation as gas bubbles, like the sensation of being about to pass gas but it’s really just your baby dancing around in there. This felt more spot on for those first few weeks.

Soon later they felt like proper kicks – little thumps from legs and arms that I could tease out when reclined, on deep exhales. These were the first times my husband and stepdaughter got to feel him, though it took some patience to catch him at the right exact time and place.

Then our baby learned (or got big enough for me to feel) the joys of constant kicking sessions. For several-minute spurts, he’d just go at it. That’s when I decided he must be practicing Brazilian jiu-jitsu in there, for his dad of course. It was a party, and it was honestly rather annoying when I was trying to get some work done.

Other times I found myself describing his movements as little volcano eruptions and rumbles. The weirdest ones feel like spasms—I still get them, and I now realize those more rhythmic sensations might be his hiccups. (If you’re wondering, hiccups are just as annoying in the womb as they are out.)

Then there are the times he’d get a bit…strong-willed. As he’s gotten bigger, it seems like he’s testing his strength and his limits. His limbs would push so forcefully and steadily, I was sure he’d break through my skin.

One afternoon I had to immediately stop folding laundry to walk around and hopefully lull him back to an amniotic slumber. The only way I could describe it: like he was reverse-Hulk smashing his way out through my ribcage.

Now, there’s not much room for the wind-up. So his kicks are more like wiggles and nudges, stretches and rolls that I can both see and feel.

Still, all just as stunning as they first were.