I felt the baby move last night. I was collapsed on the couch next to my (equally exhausted) husband, watching the girls tackle each other on the floor of the living room. Kurt had his legs across my lap and we were just... being. He's been working so much lately that it was a perfectly perfect moment of perfection to just exist within the same minimal square footage together.
And then, just above and to the side of my left hip, a tickle. I moved my hand over the spot unconsciously, a gesture that was more muscle memory from my previous pregnancies than an actual reaction to the sensation.
And then, again, a flutter, against the inside of my skin.
"Hey," I whispered to Kurt, "Hey! It moved! I felt it move."
"Are you sure that's not just dinner moving?"
"NO!". I glared. "This is different. I know this. I remember this."
Suddenly, without even realizing it, my face morphed into a huge smile, practically melting away every line of exhaustion and stress that's etched it's way in over the past few months. A flood of memories blurred my vision; laying still in the night while the world slept and a baby moved and twirled inside my belly, just the two of us, my hands curving against the bumps and punches, feeling amazed and amused all at once.
It moved. There's a baby and it moves and grows and will be a person and have soft skin and warm breath and fingers that wrap tight around my own. Oh, my God.