last night.  She didn’t kick me for a whole 45 minutes.  In my world, that is an eternity.  Longest 45 minutes of my life right there.  I realize how silly this sounds, I know but I was actually going over the conversation I would have to have with Hubby – that’s how convinced I was she wasn’t okay.  I drank water, I drank milk, I laid down flat, I sat “buddha-style,”  I paced, I even jumped (did not feel great on the boobs lemme tell ya).  My heart was pounding so hard, I could see it on my chest.  And I was home alone.  Obviously.  Had Hubby been home, I would have never acted like a loon (who are we kidding, yes I would have).  It was too late to take half a Clonopin because my usual whole dose was due in about an hour. 

So how did I talk myself down?  I dimmed the lights, sat “buddha-style” on the couch, took 5 deep breaths and put on my DVR’d episode of Grey’s Anatomy (yes, the one with the angry uterus).  Next thing I know….thump.  Thump.  Thump.

It’s been a while since I freaked out that badly.  I don’t know if it’s because I came out on this blog or because I saw a dead butterfly in the parking lot or because 20 minutes earlier or because Duke Fertility called to say they had a donor for us.  Of course, my polite response was “no room at the Inn!” and the nurse laughed and quickly remembered I was pregnant already.  I have it in my head that if I get to 28 weeks, I will be fine.  I will instantly turn back into that carefree woman I was 2 years and 7 months ago who thought my world would never come crashing down.  That’s not going to happen, is it?

An hour later, I crawled into bed and she was kicking me so hard I could see my belly move.  I cried for the first time in a really long time.

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