I get little kicks, and bloops, and waves, and vibrations, and I think, oh,
that’s hands, or feet, depending on how far what I’m feeling is from my navel.
Belly also stirs in the afternoons. It’s probably just a typical mom’s fantasy,
but I think she (let’s call her she for now, I’ll only know for sure when I get
my next ultrasound) knows when I’m talking to her, and she tries to answer when
she’s a little more awake. Last Sunday, while Mom and Bit were trawling Ortigas
Home Depot for doors and tiles, I rested in the car and chatted away at Belly. I
told her to kick once if she were a girl, and twice if a boy. She kicked once. I
laughed, got weirded out a bit, then laughed some
Cynthia, bless her generous spirit,
is lending me her electric breast pump, maternity jeans, and if she can find it,
her bouncer chair. I asked what that was – I had images of a chair shaped like a
bar thug. It’s actually a chair that vibrates babies to sleep, in case my arms
tire too soon and Belly still needs soothing.
I must remember to ask Bit for surgical
tape so I can attach headphones to my tummy, and the baby can groove to the
Beastie Boys. Or maybe Rachmaninoff – Beaker would like that.
And, I have decided on a name for her.
Well, if she is a her. I like Lilandra. When I told Dino last night, he said,
“You mean, the Empress of the Shi’ar?” There you go. At least she will have
something to talk about with the fanboys. He suggested Constantine, if Belly’s a
boy. I don’t know about naming my baby after a chainsmoking foulmouthed
trickster in a trenchcoat. It seems like a good idea, but after next year,
everyone will say, oh, you mean that guy Keanu Reeves played? It’s quite unfair
to have to fend off Keanu jokes in the playground.