The terror of love

I spent an absolutely, utterly, breathlessly panicked hour at the hospital two days ago. The baby stopped moving. After nearly six weeks of constant Cirque du Soliel coming to you direct from Jodie’s uterus, nothing. He just stopped moving. Day one: don’t panic, you’ve done this before… he’s fine. Day two morning: don’t panic, he’ll move any minute now… move… move now… move now… nothing. Day two afternoon: PANIC!

I had to go to the hospital… the hospital where I took my living breathing amazing Damon. I HATE hospitals. I really hate that hospital. I hate doctors (except the few I don’t). I hate scrubs and check in procedures and how damn calm they all are.

I sat in that ER. The same one and silently, thoroughly melted down. I stared at my feet. Don’t look around… too many memories. You have to stay calm, you have to stay conscious, just breathe, just breathe. They took me up in the same elevator. The exact same one. Hello, welcome to hell. Table for one?

Move, please move!!!! Nothing.

Once I got to labor and delivery the story changed. No more waiting. Maybe the sweetest most welcome face I had ever seen appeared. A friend! A friend who is a nurse. She wasted no time. I held my breath while she moved the doppler over my growing belly. Roughly two seconds later I heard him. I heard his strong little heartbeat. I sobbed. I sobbed. I sobbed. It was a good cry. I forgot those were possible. Then… he moved. Oh,yes, he did. Terd <3

He waited two more days to get back into his performance tights but this morning he’s kicking the fire out of me while he executes his acrobatics.

I had to confront the reality that as much as I have desperately tried to remain logical and calm about this little one growing inside of me. As much as I’ve tried to remind myself that at any second he can be taken, just like Damon. As much as I’ve tried so hard to not plan, not commit, not feel… I’m madly in love. Who knew that could happen again?

Until next time…