I’m 18 weeks pregnant. Apparently I should be feeling this thing move any day now.
Except, how will I know what it feels like? People say it feels like popcorn popping, which would be helpful if I’d ever thought to use my uterus for snack-warming, but as it is I have a microwave, so while I know what popcorn popping sounds and smells like, I have no idea what it would feel like if it were happening inside of me. You might as well tell me my baby moving will feel like a the Jamaican guys at West 4th Street playing the steel drums, or Patrick Dempsey vigorously brushing his hair.
Some others say it’s like a flutter, akin to butterflies in your stomach, or the feeling you get going over the first big drop on a roller coaster. I’ve felt those things, but not recently.
No, either my baby is too busy watching shadows on the uterine wall (the closest it has to TV--sad!) or is really adept at doing burrito impressions. Either way, I'm kind of proud.
I’ve read that it can hear now, too, so I’ve been talking to it sometimes. Nothing major, just small talk.
"Do you like that, baby?" I'll ask while steamrolling through a plate of waffles, or rubbing lotion on my belly. It's a rhetorical question, of course. I assume the baby enjoys all of my activities--that it thrills at filling up online shopping carts with maternity clothes that will make us look like we live on a stylish prairie, and cares about whether that bitch Alexandria will get her comeuppance on America's Next Top Model.
"I love you," I'll sometimes whisper. Not when I'm around other people, who might think I'm expressing my secret adoration for a table lamp or my own reflection, but when I'm alone, lying in bed, cupping my belly with both hands.
"I love you."
And then I sit, waiting expectantly--like I have so many times in my kitchen, watching that butter-stained bag inflate as it spins on the glass plate, bathed in yellow light--for the first pop.