My iPhone “Days Until” app tells me there are 75 days until our baby arrives. You know, if babies were to come exactly when the medical community predicted they will. Which, I understand, is nearly never. Regardless, in the back of my mind is a ticking countdown clock, the kind that grows increasingly louder as you get closer to the end, when the final ticks are so loud you want to jump out of your skin and scream at the top of your lungs STOP IT!! MAKE IT STOP!!!!
Truth is, I don’t want it to stop. I want the clock to keep on ticking (although it’d be nice if it ticked quietly, soothingly), and in fact I would like the clock to speed up. With baby’s arrival so near I just want him to be here already. I’m ready to get started. I’ve gone through the phases: shock, awe, amazement, holy-shit, how-will-I-do-this? And now, I’m in the final phase: I-think-I-can-do-this.
The surreal, I-can’t-believe-there’s-a-person-inside-me feeling has passed. Now I believe it. I think this has to do with the increasing amount of movement he’s been exhibiting inside my stomach. I guess this is nature’s way of telling you, ‘that’s right, bitch, there’s a person in there, and he’s coming for you!’
Every night I spend some time laying down and staring at my stomach, waiting for it to move. My dad commented a few weeks ago that it’s a bit like watching grass grow. He’s right for the most part, but if you wait long enough and watch closely enough, a blade shoots up out of nowhere and it’s all worth it. Baby’s kicks have gone from fluttery movements to insistent thumps. Sometimes I think he’s flung an arm or a foot out straight. Sometimes it seems as if he’s got the hiccups. Other times, as my stomach undulates like an ocean wave from one side to another, it appears he’s rolling over. It’s creepy and cool and kinda sci-fi and amazing all at the same time. I watch his movements and make vast generalizations about his character. He can’t stay still (like mom AND dad), he’s a flail around kind of sleeper (like mom), he’s an athlete (like mom in theory, dad in ability). I guess the final phase of motherhood preparedness training has seeped in because no matter what he’s doing in there, or what conclusion I draw from it, I always end up feeling 100 percent certain that he’s perfect. Just perfect.