Kicking

To a professional NFL punter, it means his career. To a toddler, it means a timeout. To me, it means life.

That’s right, I think I can officially say I finally felt a little kicker in there.

Anytime that I thought I could feel our little baby fluttering around this last week, I’d quickly talk myself out of it. It’s easy to blame the very little movement that I was feeling on my imagination or just my lunch digesting. I wanted to feel him so bad, but the hardest was Tuesday when I could actually see him doing flips on the ultrasound machine and couldn’t feel a dang thing.

But then it happened.

So there I was sitting at my desk before school started and just like that I felt a little flick in my lower abdomen. Could it really have been him? I sat there waiting for any other sign to tell me it wasn’t a fluke. The flutters continued to come and go sporadically, so yep, I think it's safe to say I felt him kick, or at least wiggle really hard.

I was already pretty excited at this point, but that obviously wasn't enough for our little over achiever. After our dodgeball game (tear, I’m going to miss it for a while) I could have sworn he was holding a little powwow in there. He was probably pissed I had been shaking him around to run after little rubber balls (don’t worry, it sounds ridiculous to me too) and this was his chance to get me back. Little does he know that I loved every second of his dance dance revolution and I’ve actually been contemplating trying cartwheels to get him to do it again.