When I was very pregnant with Maj, the doctors started asking me to fill out kick-charts.
Every day, I lay quietly and counted the kicks I felt within a ten minute period. There was no need to count past 20 kicks, so if I counted to 20 kicks, I was done.
I don’t believe I ever lay there counting for more than two minutes.
Maj kicked up a fucking storm.
Because it was my first pregnancy? I assumed everybody’s baby kicked all of the time.
I thought kick-charts were pretty stupid.
When I was very pregnant with Kallan, the doctors started asking me to fill out kick-charts.
Every day, I lay quietly and counted the kicks I felt within a ten minute period. There was no need to count past 20 kicks, so if I counted to 20 kicks, I was done.
I don’t believe I ever counted to 20 kicks.
Kallan was a slug.
Annoying.
I am a very competitive person even when it makes no sense at all.
Maj and I had been kick-chart champions!
What the fuck, new lazy baby?
So I yelled instructions at my stomach. She ignored me.
I shone a flashlight against my belly, holding the beam tight to the spot I imagined her head might be. She may have watched the change in illumination and wondered what the fuck was up with her crazy mother-to-be, but she did not move.
I played loud music. Nothing.
I held ice packs against my pregnant skin. Nothing.
Stupid lazy-ass baby.
So I started to shove her.
Really.
I would feel for her body within mine, and then shove her with the flat of my hand . . . not in a mean way, but in a, “You cannot stay here . . . move along,” sort of way.
And she would roll sassily away from my pressure. Not a kick exactly, but a rolling fluid purposeful movement.
OK, that’s one.
Nineteen more shoves to go, and we’re done!
Ahem.
So unborn Kallan and I were all geniusy at this kick-chart thing! She even started to actually kick at me when I shoved her! Yay!
Pissed-off kicking, probably . . . but I was all proud.
OK, and then one day Mark walked into the room as I was pushing and shoving at my pregnant stomach, and he just stared at me incredulously.
“What the hell are you doing, Kris?”
I gave my stomach a big old push from the right side and felt the baby move crankily to the other side, “Ummmm, I am just making sure the baby is OK. I need to fill out that kick-chart they gave me.”
Mark stood over me and took my hands in his, “Possibly, babe? You are insane. You are not supposed to torture the baby to make her kick.”
“I am not torturing the baby! I am just making sure she’s OK in there! Maj kicked all the time, but this baby is all sassy. The doctor said to count kicks, but she won’t kick unless I shove her.”
And then there was a pause as I considered what I had just said.
It didn’t actually sound all that maternal or loving.
Huh.
So I stopped filling out the kick charts.
Actually, Mark took them away from me.
Whatever.
Just to be clear? Unborn Kallan moved when she felt like it. I knew she was fine.
I was just cranky with her stubborn uncooperativeness. She was making me look bad.
And I felt rejected . . . why wouldn’t she talk to me?
So I ordered a stethoscope. I imagined that I would be able to listen to her unborn heartbeat. That was way better than counting kicks, right?
The stethoscope arrived.
I reclined my largish self on the couch and listened with the stethoscope. Pressed the stethoscope’s round flat metal coolness against my skin. Listened.
Silly baby, thinking you can outsmart your mother.
Look! I have spying tools! What do you think of that?
Hmmmm . . . lots of weird noises, but nothing like a heartbeat.
I tried several places on my stomach.
No heartbeat.
What about over here?
Nothing.
Well, maybe this stethoscope was defective.
I called toddler Maj over and tried to explain the situation. She took the end of the stethoscope in her hand, looked at it curiously and then hit me in the head with it several times.
OK, I heard that.
So the stethoscope worked.
Maj stared at me.
I explained sadly that I was trying to listen to the new baby, but that I couldn’t hear her.
Maj stepped closer to my stomach and laid her cheek against my skin, staring up at me with her big blue eyes. She was listening for her sister.
“Tell me if you hear anything, Maj. She won’t talk to me.” I took the end of the stethoscope and placed it against my own chest. Listened to the strong reassuring beat of my own heart.
A few moments passed.
Maj and I both listening.
And then Maj’s eyes widened in happy surprise. She pressed her cheek more tightly against my stomach.
And I felt it too . . . a slow-motion roll within me.
And I heard my own heart race in my ears.
Faster even as I stared into Maj’s delighted eyes and felt the baby swim and swirl about beneath my skin.
My heart raced.
Here in the present day?
Maj was searching through the closet for something today, and she came across the stethoscope, “Why do you even have this, Mother? We never need to listen to anyone’s heart.”
I took the box from her hands and placed it up high on the shelf, “There was that one time, Maj. That one time when I listened to my own heart race.”
“You’re weird, Mother.”
Maybe so.
Beautiful post Kris!!
Thanks, you.
Thank you very much.
I can’t believe I’m so early in the comments.
Anyway,
Miss A. kicked SO incessantly during my pregnancy that when I went into labor a week before she was done, I mistook the contractions for her kicking my spinal cord. After 7 days of non-stop “kicking” me my water broke and I went in. They strapped the contraction monitor around my belly and Miss A. complained, kicking me again in the back shooting pain through me.
“Did you feel that one? That contraction? How bad was it?” the grandmotherly nurse asked.
“That? That was a contraction?”
The nurse assured me that it was, a rather strong one.
“She’s been doing that for a week! That’s nothing; I thought she was just kicking me.”
The nurses shared a look. An impressed one. I’d been walking around, shopping, riding the bus across town to visit my friend who was due about a week later. In labor, having contractions and not even knowing it.
I just posted a few minutes ago, so you are all speedy!
Real life sometimes gets in the way on the weekends. More difficult to find daylight hours in which to write.
You? All kinds of lucky!
No way the contractions I had with my pregnancies could have been mistaken for kicks.
No way . . . not unless the kicks you felt brought you to your knees?
You were way lucky.
That is awesome!
Well, I had to work really hard on staying on my feet. Really it felt like getting punched really hard in the kidney, but I assumed she just had her feet on a nerve or something. Turns out she wasn’t even pointed in that direction.
I, agree with you–I was really really lucky.
People who were there say I’m a super-tough-bad-ass. I like believing them too. As I’ve only done it once, it’s hard to say. But her dad, my ex, has seen a lot of babies born. He says I’m the toughest he’s ever seen.
I think I want to try again.
OK, ummmm . . .
I will need explanations of why your ex has seen so many babies born.
He’s got 2 kids, and most of his friends have kids by multiple women. Plus these guys are from small towns so when a baby is born they all show up to watch. or something. I don’t know if he’s seen the actual birth, but for some reason these guys, when the women go into labor they want all their buddies around for protection or something.
OK, babe?
That part about gathering all of your buddies up to watch your woman give birth?
I have never heard of such a thing.
Mark’s buddies?
No fucking way.
And actually, not even Mark the second time around.
Really.
They weren’t allowed when mine was born. No no no. Just my parents and him.
Small towns, what can I say?
Wow.
That’s all I’ve got.
And I told you I’m totally obsessed with your blog. Since it’s the weekend and I am actually online at the time of your post, of COURSE I have to read and comment instantly. *wink*
Love that!
Yay for me!
Just lovely.
They didn’t bother with kick charts for me, since I was carrying a never-still octopus (twins). I did, however, have to come in for daily “non-stress” tests that last week of pregnancy. That’s non-stress for the babies, plenty o’ stress for me heaving my 38 week pg body out to the doctors office in a July heatwave. Taxi drivers would look at me with abject fear in their eyes, silently praying “please don’t give birth in my cab!”
And then Jacob would ALWAYS hiccup during the test and they had to wait for him to stop, so it would take forever.
I had forgotten about that, thanks for the memory prod. Sometimes you’re all useful like that.
tee hee.
Glad to be of service.
Maj got the hiccups all the time. Still remember that funny feeling of a hiccup that was not my own. Love that.
Love you, babe.
Also?
Although I did not carry twins, and I cannot even imagine that?
I was enormously pregnant with Kallan. Gained much more weight than I had the first time around. So miserable.
And her due date was July 4th.
Sweltering hot and humid July 4th . . . I remember watching the fireworks from our balcony and just feeling incredibly sorry for myself.
She waited another four days to make an appearance.
A long hot crabby swollen four days.
Until this past summer, 2002 was one of the hotter summers on record here in NYC. And my guys were born LATE July. Couldn’t even walk one block when the humidity was up since I couldn’t breathe outside.
Of course Kallan waited a few days past her due date. She is so much her own person, not type to share her birthday with… the whole country, for goodness sakes. Although I’m sure she thought the fireworks were a personal welcome for her immanent arrival.
Kallan loves the 4th of July!
She totally feels like it’s the whole country getting ready for her birthday.
Totally.
Racing heartbeat. I loved that.
And again Maj with wonder.
Maj was so excited about having a sister.
Over the moon excited.
Happy sighs at the memory.
No, you’re weird.
Really, you are.
Weirdo.
Yes, I know.
I am weird.
I love me this way.
Wasn’t suggesting you should change.
Just making an observation.
Weirdo.
From you?
The highest possible compliment.
Weirdo.
And you said you didn’t do heartwarming.
My heart is all melty over here. Love!
I do heartwarming once in a while.
Depends on my mood.
Today, I was melty.
Love this post! I am a super anxious person so I rented a Doppler during my pregnancy. It came in handy because I had an anterior placenta and I hardly ever felt him kick.
You rented a Doppler?
I didn’t even know that was a possibility!
That is so awesome!
You are awesome!
You totally can rent one and it is pretty inexpensive (under $100) if I remember correctly. Worth.every.penny.
Well, if I were to rent one now . . .
That would just be silly.
Snort!
I did this too!! Big business those doppler renter outers. 25 bucks a month for a little reassurance. I returned mine at 5 months pregnant because I was getting obsessive.
Really?
How did everyone but me know about this?
So annoying.
Both of my kids? Crazy kickers. Katie more so than Matthew, but they were serious kickers. But at the end, when they were all up in my business, I pushed them. Hard.
I love them, but, Jeebus, I needed a little space!
Beautiful post, my friend. I’m familiar with that racing heart…
I love you and I love these stories of your early days as a mother.
Yes, well . . . pushing them because you needed a little space?
More mature than pushing Kallan because she refused to recognize the importance of the kick-chart.
Pretty sure.
Hee hee!
And I am glad you like this post.
Although it is close to me?
This time in my life doesn’t always feel like a story to share with others.
Not sure why that is.
Maybe because I was so vulnerable as a new mom. So unsure of myself.
Hard to share that part, sometimes.
That’s funny, because in those early days? I had all of the answers. But now? I am all vulnerable and scared while you are certain and strong.
Wanna swap?
It’s true.
Not that I am perfect.
But I much more confident in my abilities as the girls get older.
I love watching them grow up. I am excited about their futures.
When I look backward into my pregnancies and their early lives?
I was a much less capable and confident woman.
Much.
I’m all teary-eyed and excited to be a (someday) Mom now. I love your stories!
Awww, you!
Thank you!
You’ll be fabulous.
Better than I was.
Pretty sure.
D was an active one too. One time at 8 months pregnant I didn’t feel him for a whole 24 hours. I FREAKED. And literally they hooked me up to the monitors and he went nuts. Moving, kicking, and being all cranky. It was reassuring. Also, the vulnerability and privacy of what we experience as pregnant mothers does feel private. I don’t understand it either.
Yes . . . two of the most vulnerable times in my life were the nine months of each pregnancy.
So hard. Lovely, but so very difficult for me.
And so difficult to share here.
A little at a time, perhaps.
Thanks, you.
Kick charts? Never heard of them, but I’d have been a shove-er too.
Hee hee!
I don’t like to be found lacking.
Even on something as silly as my unborn baby’s kicking ability.
Hee hee!
super sweet post I really enjoyed it.
Thanks, babe.
Beautiful… I love the way you describe the love. The magic of what happened between sisters. The way you describe the undercurrent of love and the overcurrent(?) of every day life. It’s magical. And it brings me memories too, and also brings me to see & stop & watch & listen to my little babe and my little family. I find myself spying on my husband & my daughter together, and it is thanks to such awesome bloggers as yourself – you help remind me to LOOK.
Oh, you have touched me here.
That I would remind you to look.
Sigh.
I am all teary at that beautiful thought.
Do you know what I love about you? You make me go from laughing at things like “Stupid lazy-ass baby.” to watery-eyed and all lovey dovey. In one post. I don’t know how you do it, but I love you for it.
Thank you, lovely one.
Thank you very much.
There is much beneath this post . . . so I am glad I touched you with the words I managed to say.
Thank you.
I was the biggest cry baby ever when I was pregnant. All seven times. (No, I ain’t some hillbilly slut. We got married at 17 and we lost the girls’ twins and our middle boy.)
Only to find out with the last one when I was life flighted, that I was tilted and the babies sat on a nerve. For me pregnancy sucks, delivery is so easy. the longest I ever been in labor was with the baby. She took 12 hours only cause they wouldn’t let me go pee. That’s as long as the others combined.
My mom carried 7 babies to term.
All single babies. One by one.
So no slut calling, you silly woman.
As for pregnancy? I had one bad one and one really bad one.
And as for delivery? I had one easy one and one horrific one.
Lots of memories.
So this story that I wrote today? I look at these words and see vulnerable scared me. I also see love and family and perfection.
A mix.
I do like to mix things up here on Pretty All True.
Love you.
You would not believe how many times I have been called names. With my age people just assume the worse. Which is why I now always explain.
And this and the frog one shows how much your daughters growing up is affecting you. In a good way.
I am completely loving reading your blog. And I swear Honeybear and Mark would get along great. As long as Mark doesn’t mind a smartcrackin hillbilly.
ps. Your mama-superwoman. xoxo
Love you.
I hate when people assume things. I hate feeling as though I have to offer explanations.
For anything.
Hmmmph.
And my mom?
She will adore your comment.
Hee hee!