I like to move it move it

After weeks of anticipation, we finally felt Tater move! It's entirely possible (indeed likely) that I've been feeling his movements for weeks and mistaking them gas. That's right, all you pregnancy novices, fetal movement feels like gas bubbles. And pregnant women are quite gassy. (Sexy, no?) So, it's been hard to tell the difference. But I'm now 99% sure that I can distinguish Tater from gas. This is a relief, seeing as how Tater is supposed to be the size of an ear of corn. That is WAY bigger than a gas bubble.

Here's the first detection of movement story: On Saturday night we went to Heidi's house to celebrate Shruti's birthday, and I ate a sizable piece of ice cream cake. (Tangent: Would it be totally unacceptable to purchase a large ice cream cake and store it in the freezer for personal consumption? I foresee numerous ice cream cake emergenices in my near future. Or, do they make ice cream cupcakes? Oh, that would be the best.) After consuming this big dose of sugar in the form of cake-shaped dairy heaven, I still managed to fall asleep while we were watching HP6. I woke up for the final scene, and we went home around 1:30 a.m. Straight to bed, but I was up again at 3:00 a.m. because I had to pee. I had a hard time falling back asleep. While I was tossing and turning and trying to will myself to return to R.E.M. slumber, I felt a little jolt in my stomach. Then another, and another. So I woke up Brad.

Brad is not an easy man to rouse. And he is a bit grumpy when he comes to (well, grumpy for Brad, which is baseline for me). When he's out, he's out cold. For example, the 3:00 a.m. bathroom visit has been my routine for over a month. And it is not graceful. I stumble out of bed and my balance is a mess. I try to avoid stepping on Maggie and invariably knock into the bed. Yet Brad hasn't woken up once. He didn't even realize I had this routine until I told him about it. So I'm pretty sure I will have to thump him in the nose once or twice when it's his turn to tend to Tater in the middle of the night. Or simply join in with Tater's wailing. That should do the trick.

But I digress. When I first nudged Brad, he grumbled and tried to fall back to sleep. To his credit, when I whispered "I think I'm feeling Tater move," he was up in a flash. His hand flew to my stomach, and sure enough, he felt a few Tater thumps. He mumbled something indicating joy and happiness, and then fell right back to sleep. Envy.

I've continued to feel Tater move this week, and it's pretty fabulous. Unfortunately Tater seems to sense when Brad puts his hand on my stomach; he immediately plays opossum. But Brad caught him off guard once last night, and happily felt Tater moving around for the second time.

I'm most thankful for the daily reminder that Tater is doing well. Early in my pregnancy, when I was worried every second of every day, Meghan told me that she felt the same way when she was pregnant with Sam. She was convinced that as soon as she hit the second trimester, the fears would dissipate. She had no such luck. I'm going through the same thing. First, I was focused on hitting the 10-week mark when the miscarriage rate drops. Then I thought I would stop fretting upon reaching the second trimester. After that, I was certain the worrying would end when I hit 20 weeks. But now I'm staring down the 26-week mark, when the infant survival rate is supposed to be quite good. Certainly then I will breathe easier? Let's be honest. It's unlikely, given that I am a world-class worry wart.

Though, if allowing myself to indulge in caffeine from time to time is an indicator of reduced concern, then I'm doing a bit better. We were up super early this morning to prepare for the afternoon arrival of Caty and Jim (whee!!!), and I needed a kick when I got to work. Half-caff, double-tall, soy latte from Starbucks to the rescue. If movement = happiness (doesn't it always?) then Tater loves caffeine. Good boy.