Prisoner of the Womb

My Son is a hyperactive fetus. He’ll be leaping off of furniture in no time once He’s out. He seems to want to break free of the womb, like He’s got things to do, and all the formalities are just driving him nuts.

We spent last night in the hospital because I was contracting, but my contractions only lasted ten seconds each. They calmed down once I was there and resting, but my Son didn’t rest for a second. He thinks being monitored is a game of “Hide and Seek.” Catching Him on an ultrasound or heart rate monitor has always been near impossible, which is why I love the snapshot of Him looking directly towards the wand and waving His hands, as if He’s saying “Nay-nee-nay-nee-nah-nah!”
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He kicked directly at the abdominal monitors strapped to me last night; He seemed to know they were there.

He registers His annoyances directly. When I wear non-maternity exercise wear to a workout or even when I wear underbelly maternity pants, He will flail directly at the waistline. I imagine He’s telling me, “Look, lady. That’s my head. Get this crap out of the way.” Amidst His protests, I have no choice but to lose the pants in favor of what He likes.

And what’s with His insistence upon being in birthing position anyway? He may move His body from the right side (though rarely), but He is serious about crowning.
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“Any second now, I’m breaking outta’ Attica,” is how He behaves. And I keep trying to tell Him, “Son, you’re staying where you are for forty-two weeks if mama can help it.” There’s so much I feel the need to accomplish before He gets here that I certainly don’t want Him presenting Himself early. He’s got more cooking to do…especially if He’s going to keep my hands full and my heart on-edge, worrying about which roof He may fly off or which muscle He may sprain. If He turns out to be a calm child, I’ll be shocked.

Maybe He’s just athletic, which would be no genetic surprise. My Dad held a world record in track and field. My Son is most definitely strong-willed, which is no genetic surprise either. My daughters and I have that ground covered enough to vouch for the trait.

My first daughter was resilient in-utero, just as she has been since birth. My second daughter was a picky fetus, and she hasn’t veered much. I could only eat certain foods with her, foods I didn’t even like otherwise; repetition was key. 

My Son wants to try everything. The foods with which I’m obsessed one week are nauseating the next. The only thing consistent has been chocolate.
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He is so active that I have trouble sleeping some nights. I guess I’d better start building up a supply of bandages and first-aid.

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