This space is for friends, family and sworn enemies to bask in and share the frustration of trying to understand our world. If it falls short of that objective you can always laugh at my futility. Hopefully we can have some laughs along the way. If we don't, it's your fault.
Monday, February 13, 2012
The Baby Bump
For a couple of weeks now, Mrs. Blackwell has been feeling them.
In the middle of the night while we're sleeping. While we're watching television. While we're eating dinner. While we're walking together and, in general, any time we're out and about.
Baby kicks and baby bumps. It seems our unborn identical twin boys, who are now just shy of the 26-week mark, have been getting increasingly restless.
Big kicks. Small kicks. Big bumps. Little bumps.
Mrs. Blackwell's been getting them anywhere and anytime. And while she regularly asks me to put my hand on her stomach to feel the action, I have yet to feel a bump.
"I'll believe it when I feel it."
She told me that the first big one she felt was at her desk while she was typing. She was writing what I am sure was a fantastic memo to her colleagues when a kick, or punch, of such power was unleashed that it bounced her wrist off her tummy.
As a side note: Mrs. Blackwell and I have been getting ultrasounds on a weekly basis. Without fail, each of these checkups reveals two babies kicking, hitting or otherwise infringing on each other. I hope and pray that this behavior is left in the womb but, as the middle brother of three boys, I know better.
So, with all of this action happening, it's been surprising to have yet to feel a "kick." Each time the boys get tuned up, Mrs. Blackwell asks me to put my hand on her tummy. At that moment, as if on cue, the bumping stops, leaving me feeling a warm stomach and nothing else.
"Even the unborn can't resist me."
This was the case until Saturday morning. In a feat of rare initiative, Mrs. Blackwell and I got moving early and decided to go see an 11:40 a.m. showing of the new George Clooney movie, "The Descendants."
There, in the dark of the theater and surrounded by complete strangers, the boys began to kick up a storm. As the movie played, my wife gestured what was happening. And this time, before they had a chance to frustrate their dad again, I moved my hand and felt several bumps right in a row.
Maybe thanks to the miracle of Dolby Digital Surround Sound, the kids thought it was George Clooney who was about to touch them so, unlike their father, they sought to impress him. Regardless, I felt the "kick." It was pretty much what I expected, and not unlike flicking my palm with my finger.
I haven't felt a kick since Saturday but, now that I've got one under my belt, my thoughts can begin to wander back toward those kicks that will be happening once they get here. And when I need the real thing I can always turn on a Clooney movie. Like the boys, Mrs. Blackwell wouldn't object to that either.