At fifteen and a half weeks I experienced the quickening. The best way I’ve heard it described is that it feels as if you’re popping popcorn in your belly. It also feels like gas moving around in your GI track, except that there’s no gas to actually accompany the feeling of gas. This is how it was in the beginning: Just a faint finger-drumming on a very small table in my belly.
Somewhere in the late-teen weeks, it felt like Scooter the Fetus was plucking a nylon guitar string. Why nylon? Because the feeling wasn’t metallic, and the music wasn’t electric. It also felt like Scooter lets his fingers roll off of the strings when he plucked them like some kind of very lazy classical guitar strumming. And so the inside of my belly was the body of the guitar. Sometimes the strings felt rubber, too. This is when I imagined that Scooter the Fetus had constructed a guitar out of milk cartons and rubber bands, and the inside of my belly was the milk carton.
In the early twenty-something weeks, your partner may be able to get kicked in the ear if he or she puts his or her ear on your belly. This happened to my husband. And so he was endeared.
In the middle twenties, it felt like my belly was a dryer drum, and in this dryer I might have been tumbling very small baby shoes, balled-up socks, and small stuffed animals.
At thirty weeks, sometimes Scooter has an earthquake, and my belly trembles. Sometimes my belly moves around like something out of a horror movie. My belly has hard spots and soft spots, depending on whether Scooter has his butt or skull pressed against my belly button. I feel squirming throughout the basketball that is my belly now. There is some feeling that a whole, small body is moving around in there. All the way around my belly, from just below my breasts to just above my pubic bone. He sleeps when I sleep, and he’s awake most of the day, or he’s a restless little napper.
I imagine that Scooter is cognizant and playful. Thankfully, though, when I knock three times on my belly, he does not knock back three times.
Somewhere in the late-teen weeks, it felt like Scooter the Fetus was plucking a nylon guitar string. Why nylon? Because the feeling wasn’t metallic, and the music wasn’t electric. It also felt like Scooter lets his fingers roll off of the strings when he plucked them like some kind of very lazy classical guitar strumming. And so the inside of my belly was the body of the guitar. Sometimes the strings felt rubber, too. This is when I imagined that Scooter the Fetus had constructed a guitar out of milk cartons and rubber bands, and the inside of my belly was the milk carton.
In the early twenty-something weeks, your partner may be able to get kicked in the ear if he or she puts his or her ear on your belly. This happened to my husband. And so he was endeared.
In the middle twenties, it felt like my belly was a dryer drum, and in this dryer I might have been tumbling very small baby shoes, balled-up socks, and small stuffed animals.
At thirty weeks, sometimes Scooter has an earthquake, and my belly trembles. Sometimes my belly moves around like something out of a horror movie. My belly has hard spots and soft spots, depending on whether Scooter has his butt or skull pressed against my belly button. I feel squirming throughout the basketball that is my belly now. There is some feeling that a whole, small body is moving around in there. All the way around my belly, from just below my breasts to just above my pubic bone. He sleeps when I sleep, and he’s awake most of the day, or he’s a restless little napper.
I imagine that Scooter is cognizant and playful. Thankfully, though, when I knock three times on my belly, he does not knock back three times.
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