I can feel you in there so faintly. So unexpectedly. That quick flutter, the subtle poke. You're reminding me that you're there, as if I've ever forgotten. As if you're not on my mind nearly 24 hours a day. My tiny little nugget with two arms and two legs, with a strong heartbeat in the 150's and the fingerprints that identify you as your own tiny person. At 16 weeks, you're as big as an avocado now and pretty soon these subtle jabs will feel like an assault from the outside in.
In these first few weeks where only I know that you're moving, it's a secret that I'm holding close to my chest. Every little toss and turn feels like we're sharing something special, just you and I. Before anyone else can feel you through my skin, before we can watch you tumble and stretch, it's just you and I and the secret inside.
Every few days I get out my at home doppler and listen to your heartbeat through the headphones. It reassures me, it calms me, and it reminds me that my body is doing what it is supposed to be, no matter how I'm feeling on the outside. Sometimes it still feels surreal that you're in there. I start doubting it all. But just as quickly, that's when you flip over to remind me that it is real. That you're in there, just as I'd hoped you would be. I hope you're being well taken care of. I'm doing my best.
Thank you for sharing this secret with me. I can't wait to meet you.