You Don't Know What You Got 'Til It's Gone

When you are grateful fear disappears and abundance appears”

Anthony Robbins quotes

This baby of mine is usually far more motivated than I am. She tumbles and roundhouses inside my belly nearly 100% of the time, including the times I'm lying half-asleep on the couch or in bed with blankets pulled over my eyes. Recently, the kicks have gotten so strong-and a few, almost painful- that I told Sky he needs to remind our daughter to behave. I would rub my stomach and tell her to calm down a little bit. And then I ate my words big time.

A couple of days ago, she stopped moving. The thumps and bumps that I am used to were noticeably absent after a few hours. I drank cold drinks, I laid on my left side, and I did everything else I could think of to wake her up. Once or twice, I felt a limb brush against me, but it was gentle and in slow motion. Sky asked if I wanted to get out our heart monitor to check on her. We listened to the now-familiar beat of her heart, and I felt a little bit better.

When I woke up the next morning, I waited for the first kicks, but they never came. After being at work for an hour, I got frightened enough to call my doctor. She told me to come in right away. My appointment wouldn't be for an hour, but they wanted to monitor me until then. I didn't like the way that sounded. I walked to the hospital quickly, but it seemed to take longer than the couple blocks.

The nurse helped me up to the exam table and strapped a belt with a couple monitors onto my stomach- one to measure the heartbeats per minute, and one to measure contractions. The results printed out on graph paper like a lie detector test. She gave me a can of orange juice to drink and moved the machine around until she found the sound of the baby's heart. And after about a minute of listening, there was a huge kick to the plastic sitting on my belly. The nurse and I both laughed, although I almost cried, too. And before the doctor came in, I spent the time listening to her whooshing around in amniotic fluid, completely unaware that she had scared her mother to death.

I'm not quite sure how it works, really- how I can love, so deeply, someone that I have never met, touched, looked in the eyes, or held. She's nearly anonymous to me, and yet I spend a large part of every day thinking of nothing but her. I daydream about her, worry about her, and plan for her. Last weekend, I got into a nesting frenzy- something I thought was a silly old wive's tale until it hit me with a vengeance. I got out a couple of toys and books from my childhood, and found a baby blanket that had belonged to my youngest brother. Sky and I even bought her a couple things yesterday- a onesie and skirt for day, and long pajamas for night, all in purple (which I think is her favorite color). She has quite a personality already for not being born.

So I vowed to never complain about her dance moves again. She's been dancing ever since, too. Sky and I even felt a huge knot near my ribs last night-most likely her head pushed against me. Every moment like that takes me past any worries or doubts and into pure excitement and awe.

I'm getting very ready to meet this healthy, dancing baby.