Thoughts on having a child who moves.
When Margot first came into my life I longed for the day I would feel her little kicks and rolls. We knew she was a mover from very early on when an ultrasound caught her dancing around like a little animated gummy bear.
Towards the end of my suffering through hyperemesis gravidarum, I felt a little fish swimming around in my belly and I would lay flat on my stomach with my hands pressed hard on my abdomen in absolute glee over this incredible feeling that no one else in the world would ever know. There are many things Margot will share with the world, but there are a few that she will only ever share with me. And this was one of them.
Soon enough, her daddy would feel her kicks and jabs as we would lie in bed and wonder who was in there. I would try to motion to him without moving any part of my body when the kicking started, because (of course) she would stop the show whenever I resumed normal breathing.
When she was born, she moved in the jerky way that babies do, unused to the wide open spaces of the world. And every movement was a miracle.
It didn’t take long for her to discover her hands and to use them to put everything she came across in her mouth. A skill which came in very handy when she began to eat solid foods.
Next came the rolling over, which she learned over the course of a weekend as Todd and I sat behind the video camera cheering her on, but not too loudly for fear of distracting her from the task at hand.
And now, she crawls.
My little dancing gummy bear can crawl right across the room.
Not only can she crawl, she can also pull herself up on furniture…
And, well, life will never be the same. We used to spend hours cuddling and nursing. Now, I lay on the floor as she helps herself and then crawls over to her toys and then crawls back the moment I put my shirt back on and then blows raspberries on my boobs and then crawls over to the window and pulls herself up so she can watch the kids on the field across the street, then comes back over and pulls on my shirt, crawling over me to get to her toys again, and then turning back to make sure my boob is still there for when she needs it 30 seconds from now.
I used to set her down to play while I prepared our lunch, now she crawls right up to me and opens and closes the drawers until I lift her up so she can help Mama by sampling every non-edible thing in sight.
We used to lay her down to sleep and then cleverly sneak away so we could watch Breaking Bad without her hearing lots of curse words and violence. Now, we can’t walk away even when she’s sleeping for fear she will wake up and crawl herself right off the bed.
It’s wonderful and exhausting and heart breaking to have a baby who crawls. My dad today sent me a picture of Margot when she was just a few days old along with the question, “Can you believe Margot was ever this tiny?”
And, honestly, how could I ever forget?