Kick

It's a phantom thing at first; a strange fluttering as you fall asleep, a nervous sensation in the pit of your belly, as if you're about to give a speech.

But then it comes more often, and you realize just what it is--the baby is moving. At first, it's only an inside feeling--you cannot feel it yet from the outside. You cannot prove it exists.

You feel as though you are carrying great secret inside of you: A spinning planet, a shifting ocean.

And then one night, you rest your hands on your belly, and there it is--a nudge against your palm. Before you can react, it comes again, quick and definite. Small, gentle, and sweet.

If you can feel her moving, that means she's growing. And after the news from last week, growth is of utmost concern and importance.

Your whole body sighs with happiness and relief, and you are struck by a wave of emotion toward your baby. You try to think of a word to describe it: Fierce.

And then the baby moves again.

You allow yourself to imagine a tiny foot, a waving hand.