Kick Me

I think that while my oldest son Colin was in utero, he must've hung up a "kick me" sign in there. Because with all of my pregnancies, from the moment I felt those first fetal flutters to the moment those actual feet emerged from my ... well, you know ... it was always kick, thump, kick, thump. To the bladder, to the ribs, to the soft internal structures that are supposed to be shielded by bone. Like miniature Jackie Chans*.

*Only, you know, unborn and Caucasian.

It's understandable, though. I mean, when your entire body is folded into the space the size of a watermelon, you don't have much of a choice.

What is not understandable, though, is that the uterine kicks are still effing happening despite my having vacated the infants therein.

I have always felt weird internal blips and bumps between pregnancies, and chalked it up to my reproductive organs trying to get back to normal after taking a massive 9-month beating (by my massive 9-pound babies). But ever since about a month or two after I had Coby, I've been consistenly feeling what I can only describe as those very early movements. From, like, the stage where you're positive it's real movement and not just a fart brewing in there.

They're so pronounced and so consistent (every day, y'all) that I started freaking out a little. I thought about that show on TLC, "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" where women don't even know they're expecting until they actually give birth and I was all, "OMFG, no way," and started like calculating days and recalling incidents with condoms and stuff. Then I really scared myself by going to the show's website and reading this article called "Surprise Pregnancy: How Could You Not Know?" It explains exactly how a woman can be knocked up and none the wiser. (Although for me, something about gaining 80 pounds and feeling like there's a baby elephant doing backflips in my abdomen usually tips me off.) You can read the whole thing here, but I've listed some of the bullet points and how each applies to my situation:

Fetus is small, inactive, and/or carried toward the back of the womb.
I've never had a small fetus, but hey, there's a first time for everything.

Recent previous childbirth.
Um, yep.

Dieting.
Um, yep. ...Well, sort of. ... Sometimes.

Stress.
Three little boys, a house to manage, a job to do (part time at least), and a new puppy. Stress? Ya think?

Fetus is mistaken for a tumor or cyst.
See answer to question #1. Replace "small fetus" with "tumor or cyst."

Obesity.
Didn't I just write a post regarding things that are cool about being fat?

Inaccurate use of birth control.
Condoms. 'Nuff said.

History of irregular cycles and/or infertility.
Totally. I think you could sum up the entire contents of my medical records with that one sentence.

After reading the article, I went from reasonably sure I couldn't possibly be pregnant to screaming toward Walgreens to snatch up the first pregnancy test I could find.

Immediately upon arriving home I ripped it out of the package and ... well, you can pretty much imagine what went on. I don't need to paint you a picture. (But if I did, I'd use a lot of yellow.)

And then I waited for three minutes.

Okay, maybe it was more like two and a half, but still.

With shaking hands I picked up the test and took a deep breath as my eyes registered ...





... a big fat negative.

Whew.

So yeah. I'm now 99.999999% sure that my phantom kicks are just that - phantom kicks. Not the kicks of some surprise kid that's gonna come busting outta my nether-regions like, "Haaaaaay ya'll!"

It's still weird though.