Holy crow's feet.
It's been a day. We're working from home again, because there's just so much to get done, I needed the peace and space and unreachableness.
This morning, as I was reaching to plug in my laptop, I proved once again that it is a miracle that I've surived this long, and that this baby has minimal chance of making it to a first birthday unscarred. You see, since I was waiting for the drywall filler to dry around the other socket in the room, I opted for the unfinished one, the one still dangling from the junction box embedded in the wall.
And shocked myself pretty good. It took until noon or so for the tingling to dissipate (which is odd, since when I used to stick metal bits into plug sockets in high school, the charge never lasted longer than forty-five minutes, not matter how long I forced my hands to hold on).
Given how much time I've spent with electricity, I thought about it (always a mistake ;). I was standing barefoot, both feet connecting with the floor by the socket. That means I made a full circuit (by not wearing rubber soled shoes) from my left hand, through my feet. Technically, if this had been 220v current and I hadn't drop the box right away, I couldn't gotten a good heart-thumping from that setup.
And given that I know that amniotic fluid is mostly electrolytes, and the baby's heart is right on the way between my left hand and my feets, I know that the current had to have travelled through there.
But nothing hurt, so instead of panicking I quietly called the midwives who carefully pointed out that unless I feel contractions, or pain, or something specifically weird, chances are that the baby experienced even less symptoms than I did. They offered to drop by with the dopler thingy to listen for a heart if I get nervous at any point, and suggested that my ultrasound next week will alleviate any other fears.
Which is perfect, and it felt good to know that I'd reacted just right. (except for the bit where I got shocked in the first place)
Then I asked if this meant Lumpzilla would be born with superpowers, and much giggling ensued.
I think it's important that a midwife can giggle.
But none of that was the important events of today. Yes, I slacked off during lunch and made a spinach salad and ordered a pizza with broccolli on it for a comfy lunch on the living room floor with a lady friend, her man, and their mad, giggling little one.
Just as they were preparing to leave, it happened. Poke. Poke poke poke poke poke poke. Someone poking me in the bellybutton, but from the wrong side. Poke. Poke poke poke.
Thing is, I'm only 18 weeks. Yes, we're having trouble dating me (my due date has moved by two weeks at this point), and I've been experiencing all sorts of things super early -- nausea at 6 weeks, an end to nausea at 11 weeks, the "quickening" at 15-16 weeks...
But kicking at 18 weeks? That's a MONTH early!
Ye gods, if baby emerges speaking four languages, I'm not going to be surprised at this rate...
Poke. Poke poke. Poke poke poke.
Although I have to admit, I can't WAIT to see an elbow float across my belly. I just can't wait.
(even though this baby for the most part seems nocturnal and it'll drive us both nuts in the process -- I can't wait!)