These days I’m just fist-bumping my belly to survive. Why? Because I’m a tired, swollen, sad mess who waddles around her house trying to make it through the last month of pregnancy.
And when I lightly tap my tummy with my fist, my unborn baby girl normally wiggles or kicks right back and it’s like we’re giving each other a secret signal that we got this. We can make it. We’re in this together for however long it takes.
To be honest, I don’t even know if I’m actually bumping her fist. I could be patting an elbow, knee, thighbone or rump. But that doesn’t matter. It’s our signal and it works.
We are going to make it through the next several weeks. The countdown is on – T minus five weeks and counting.
I joke around like it’s a flippant gesture, but in actuality the bumping is helping me survive the madness of being pregnant after I’ve already delivered one of my babies stillborn at 37 weeks.
Because when she moves, I know she’s alive.
I don’t know what her birth will entail, or how long I’ll get to raiser her on earth (hopefully for my entire life) but that moment after the bump when she moves, I know that everything is all right.
So if you see me walking around patting my midsection, just know I’m checking in. Before long I might be known as that crazy lady who hits herself. Hopefully she’ll be born soon and I won’t have to worry and wonder anymore.
I’m grateful for the life that is growing inside me. I’m glad that things are going really well. But I can’t wait until she’s born and it’s all over.
I know it sounds crazy, but I’m going to keep bumping my tummy until she’s born. Then we’ll bump fists for real.
Boogers on the Wall 