I waited twenty weeks to feel the baby move. My tricky placenta created a punching bag between us. Now, six months into incubating this kid, she flutters up and down the walls of my uterus, tapping out dispatches I can’t quite understand. It mostly feels like an eyelid spasm after too much caffeine and too little sleep. But, you know, from inside my womb.
Jacob occasionally rests his hands on my belly trying to feel something, but so far I’m the one receiving all of the messages. This morning we yelled at each other from across the house and as I bellowed my first words of the day the baby began to flip. “She’s wondering why we’re being so loud so early in the morning,” I explained as if I knew how to decipher her code.
Can you anthropomorphize a human?
Last week I flew to Ohio for work. On the way to the airport, shouting over my persistent cough, the cab driver asked if I was having a boy or a girl. Foolishly, I answered. “Don’t worry,” he sighed, “you can have a boy next time.”
What do we know about this mysterious passenger? She’s the size of an Atlantic Puffin, a GI Joe doll, or a demi baguette, for starters. In a few weeks, she’ll begin practicing how to cry.
Meanwhile, I continue to cart her around, coughing, pushing against the edges of her container.
Tap, tap, tap.