Mila, moving.

The first time I felt her move was during a summer night in SF around week 15 or 16.   Just a couple of twitches on the lower left side of my belly, one after the other in the exact same spot.  They could have just been muscle twitches, but I don’t think they were.  She’d made first contact, and she was real.

One night shortly after that, in our old Telegraph Hill place, I flopped belly-down on the bed and felt what seemed like a tiny kick of protest, flat-footed straight down into the mattress.  Hey!  I got the hint and I quickly rolled over.

I started feeling soft, mysterious little swishes, especially after I ate.  Whenever I wore a seatbelt or slightly too-tight pants, I felt her probing and straining against the resistance, more and more aggressively as the weeks ticked by.  For several weeks I felt her swim about like this - still undetectable from the outside, like a secret conversation she was having with me.  Mama, hi!  I’m here.

September.  D and I were on the big island in Hawaii for our babymoon, and we’d just discovered her gender.  We floated in the pool and talked about names, college funds, and life insurance.  It was in Hawaii that I insisted that he put his hand on my belly and just have a little patience.  Did you feel that?  No.  There, how about that?  Yes.

On October 10 I had an all-day meeting with clients at work.  Throughout the day she bounced so vigorously that I could see my belly twitching wildly in all directions under my shirt.  This is boring.  Let’s play.

One night around 30 weeks, I looked down and saw that my belly was hilariously misshapen and asymmetrical.  I put my hand over the lump sticking out of my right side, which felt very much like a little round head.  I believe that was the night she turned head-down, nestled into position to meet us.

In the last weeks of my pregnancy, I’d lie in bed and feel her slithering about like a bag of snakes; it tickled.  She’d kick her dad repeatedly in the back while we lay half-asleep.  She’d worm her way up into my rib cage, and I’d push what I was pretty sure was her butt back down so that I could fill my lungs.  At antenatal testing, she'd punch indignantly at the sensors strapped across my belly, sending them up and down and passing her tests with flying colors.  I’d rub my hand over my belly absently and feel something distinctly foot-shaped shifting position.

When she was born, I thought I might have some feeling of recognition.  I remember looking at her little face and wondering if she looked like me or D or some combination.  The likenesses didn't strike me immediately.  But the shape and the weight of her in my arms, and her little feet and knees and elbows, felt so familiar.  I didn't recognize her by sight, but I did recognize her by feel.