Last night, I definitely felt Bullet kicking from the outside.
I was lying in bed reading my latest book in The Hangmans’ Daughter series, resting my hand on my recently coconut-buttered belly. It was faint and fluttery, no where near the emphatic kicks that our very active daughter would give me towards the end of our pregnancy with her, but hey, we’re 18 weeks.
“I’m pretty sure I just felt Bullet kick from the outside!” I exclaim to the Hubs, who is reading in bed beside me, probably some wartime conflict novel.
He immediately reaches over to get a piece of the action, resting his strong hand on my belly.
Hudson used to freeze when the Hubs would try to feel her kicking and moving. It was kind of amusing, like maybe she thought she was in trouble. How could she tell it was her father’s hand and not my touch?
So we half-anticipated that Bullet would be the same – frozen under the disciplinary hand of his (I’m sure its a boy) father.
“Did you feel that?” I ask, hopeful.
“Was it right up here?” the Hubs asks, putting a little more pressure with his thumb, where the kick had landed.
“Uh-huh!” I laugh, because this is awesome. Sharing this with my husband is priceless, a memory I don’t want to forget.
He pokes a little harder with his thumb, trying to get a reaction from the Bullet.
This time in the middle of his palm. As if to say “Oh… you gotta be quicker than that, Dad!”
We laugh together, and my eyes well up with tears, because I’m thinking of how precious this memory is right now, and also about how precious these moments were with our daughter. I think to myself, “I need to be sure and write about this, make a note of the date that we first felt the Bullet move from the outside,” milestones and mental keepsakes that I am thankful I can never misplace.
Documented here for the Bullet’s lifetime.