Faint Flutters

I felt Sprout kick for the first time a few weeks ago as I was on my way back from yoga class, steering wheel in one hand and butter croissant in the other---not an easy feat when driving a standard transmission car! Just as I was about to pass over Rt. 50, I felt a slight flutter in my stomach, like a butterfly brushing its wings against cupped hands.

So many new mothers mistake gas bubbles for baby kicks, so I didn't write about the feeling then, but I DID start eating more butter croissants, thinking that maybe Sprout was an aficionado. For days I'd feel nothing, and then there was that sensation again.

Well, last night, Sprout was wiggling around like crazy thanks to the some spinach and artichoke dip that didn't agree with me. As my stomach protested by emitting loud gurgles, Sprout performed somersaults inside. Can you imagine how loud a growling stomach must sound from the inside? I knew that this would be one of the few times at this point of my pregnancy (20 weeks) that R might feel Sprout, so I grabbed his hand and pressed it against my belly. Sprout obliged with a quick one-two combination, bringing a big, fat grin to R's face.

"I felt it!" he exclaimed.

Valentine Heartbeats

Since Rodney can't make it to most of the doctor's appointments, he asked me to record Sprout's heartbeat today. We're not really ones to celebrate Valentine's Day, but listening to the baby's heartbeat was the sweetest gift.

Listen (Requires Windows Media Player. Click here for free download)

A Poem For Sprout

This week is number 18.
You are curled up warm and snug,
well past the seahorse phase,
or so the book says,
and onto the sweet potato---
every week a new fruit or vegetable
to measure your progress.
Technically, though, this one's a tuber---
book's not as smart as it thinks.

But we measure you differently,
especially your mom
who is in the popcorn phase,
the trampoline phase,
or maybe the tiny drummer phase,
unseen musician, tapping out approval
of a world unknown.

Last night you liked Alvin Ailey's Dance Troupe.
It was a one-kick show.
We've learned you like chocolate.
That's two at least.
And Chinese food's great, too;
Three for General Tso.
Red meat's the top;
Five for Five Guys, one per guy, I suppose.

Still,
what we can't figure
is when you'll arrive.
Can you make it the Ides of July?
When you get a chance---let us know.
Two if yes. One if no.

--By Dad-To-Be