I’ve done a lot of reading on pregnancy and hit up many childbirth classes of different forms, at different places. I am swollen full of interesting pregnancy information.
One thing that I read was about how the baby usually doesn’t move much during the day if you are walking around and active. It lulls the baby to sleep. Makes sense to me. The baby turns Olympic gymnast come nighttime, when you finally lay down to rest. I found this to be fairly true with you, B.B. A little movement here and there through the day, but then you’d start flipping around and jabbing me with elbows and knees as soon as I laid down.
A few weeks ago I realized that this has changed. During the week I am very active still. I am on my feet all day while I teach. I’m waddling around the classroom and halls of the school. I’m talking and teaching with the students for seven hours a day. Theoretically you, Baby, should be lulled to sleep by all of this, and I believe that you were for a while. Now, however, you are stretching in your womby room and nudging me all day. I’m shocked that my out-spoken fifth graders haven’t verbally pointed out the alienesque nature of my stomach as it shifts and blobs about. There is some appendage (knee??) that you constantly jab out and nudge around on my side. During the evening you settled down a bit, but I could usually still feel a little movement all the way until I fall asleep.
Now, here’s what I noticed for almost a month now. Saturday comes around and you are gone. No movement. No jabbing, nudging or stretching. Alright, so a teeennnsssyy bit of movement…but seriously, enough that I’ve been worried and wondered if I should call the midwives on a Saturday. Then, come Monday you are back to your wiley antics.
Then I started thinking about this more, as the third weekend of this rolled around. I know that I am absolutely pooped by Saturday. The weeks are so tough to waddle through. I’m on my feet for seven+ hours of school and then I have appointments almost every day. During the weekend I find very little energy to even muster leaving the house. I believe that you and I are connected in a different way than the pregnancy books, B.B. Maybe not at first, but now we are. I believe that we are like E.T. and Elliot.
You know. How they become so connected that it gets to that tear-jerking scene where all of the scientists have taken over the house and Elliot is hooked up to the oxygen machines, and the pot of flowers is dying. We figure out that Elliot and E.T. are so deeply connected that when one is hurt or…well…dying, then the same happens to the other. That scene has made me cry every time since I first saw it 25ish years ago.
I tried to explain to your daddy the other night why you weren’t moving. I was too tired and you were feeling that while all cocooned up in the womb. I told him we were like E.T. and Elliot and tried to imitate the voices that make my throat close up and my eyes swell with tears. “Ellllliiioooooott. Eeeelllliiooott,” (I make my voice throaty and nasally at the same time like the lovable alien; curling my fingers out towards your dad.) “E.T.!! E.T.!!” (I change to Elliot’s raspy, death voice as he reaches out his hand in response to the alien’s calls.)
Your dad backed away from the room. I think he told me to stop. I couldn’t hear him through the tears that were starting to spill over into my lashes. Ahh, what a special connection. So, I’m not going to worry when you lay low on Saturday. I get it. I’m tired too.
Love, Mama B.