Hiking Mount Hormone
I spent Monday morning puking. At the time I assumed this was a random morning sickness sniper attack, but on Tuesday I still felt weird. On Wednesday night, dizziness struck so suddenly that I wondered if I could drive myself home from work. When I finally got there, I spent the night trying not to move as the room spun in lazy circles and my uterus tightened with frequent, painless contractions. Mike was out of town and I mentally made a list of who I could ask to drive me to the hospital, if it came to that. At some point, I fell asleep.
The next morning I cautiously opened one eye and found the room blessedly still. The contractions had stopped. The baby was moving as usual. I felt better and better as the day progressed and saw no need to visit the midwives.
But this morning I missed my baby’s customary wriggling as I got out of bed. There was no excited response to my glass of cold orange juice. No somersaulting as I drove to work. By the time I got there, the uterine silence was deafening.
“YOU IDIOT,” I told myself. “You killed your baby!”
Tears welling, I gently prodded my belly. I bent at the waist and straightened up. I jiggled up and down. I drank a glass of cold water. I speed-walked up and down the hallway. I got on all fours and crawled back and forth behind my desk. Finally, as the tears were spilling over and I was reaching for the phone to tell Mike that I’d killed our son…
BAM! BAM BAM BAM!
And he hasn’t stopped moving since.
A punch in the bladder never felt so wonderful.