Freud...

Last night, Patrick felt the baby move for the first time. I think I was more excited than he was (of course it was around 11 when I grabbed his hand and put it on my belly). He really has been wanting to feel her and I'm so glad he finally got to. She really was dancing up a storm (I'm thinking jazz tap lessons are in order... later of course), but he only felt the one big kick.

So, since it's me, I can't just be excited and happy for this event. I've got to analyze why I'm so excited and happy (yes, mom I see you smiling in my mind). So, what I've come up with is that it's been a fairly solitary deal so far. Yes, I know it took both of us to start this train ride, but it feels like a lot of the changes and weirdness and craziness mostly happen to me. He's not in on the swelling body parts, funky digestive process, and the first nudges from the inside--editorial note: I am not saying he has not been wonderfully supportive in all of these issues, because, I just couldn't do it well without him. Anyway, the fact that he could feel the baby when I did, just seemed to me like we got to share this pregnant thing in a way more special and real than me just telling him about it.

I know I probably sound a little naive and silly to those who've been through this a couple (or a half dozen) times, but you know I'm more sentimental than pragmatic. And I know you'll forgive me since it's my first time. Here's hoping the train doesn't wreck before we get to the station!