The first time I felt her hiccup was last week. I felt Archer's first hiccups around the same time. It took me a while before I realized what was happening. The rhythm of the movement like drums. Badabum. Badabum. Badabum.
I was to be monitored several hours a day, five-days-a-week, during my last six weeks of pregnancy (because of the Preeclampsia) and when nurses hooked me up to the multitude of machines my belly would drum. Every. Single. Time.
The first time I was too novice to know what was happening. To recognize the rhythm.
"Will you look at that?" The nurse smiled. "He's hiccuping!"
"He is? Are you sure?"
"Yup. Very common at this stage. And cute."
"Oh my God! My baby is hiccuping?"
I didn't even know it was possible.
It might have been the moment my pregnancy felt most real. My baby was hiccuping -- something that living, breathing humans do. And all these years later, whenever Archer gets the hiccups I become nostalgic for those very first hiccups. The ones we experienced together.
hiccup! hiccup! hiccup!
I felt her hiccups for the first time last week and had the same kind of "Oh My God. This is happening!" She's in there and she's swallowing and surprising me with twitches of liveliness. Vibrating my body with her human idiosyncrasies. Just like her brother did.
Thus reminding me to catch my breath and enjoy this time, these final weeks of pregnancy: carrying around the ultimate question mark.
Because soon enough I will lose vessel-status and have my body back, which is what I have gone on and on about desperately wanting but there is a part of me that treasures this time. Knowing that without even trying, I'm making something completely dumb-founding(ly) beyond comparison perfect. The ultimate creative act. No drafting. No red pens in the margins.
And yet: Hiccups. Glorious hiccups.