Part One, stuff happens.

Actually, this is cheating a bit. I first noticed something was going on at 16.5, but I’m not making a 16.5 post. It’s a little too “Captain’s Log, Stardate…” for me. I figure it’ll probably maybe happen more often from here, and I wasn’t sure sure til late last night, so we’ll call it 17. Besides, who knows if anything else exciting will actually happen this week. Last week had stretchy pants! Hard to top.

So, 16.5!

I was sitting at work trying to stay awake (3:30pm, I’m sad, I know) and started feeling these little twitchy sensations in the general alien-incubating region. “Odd”, thought I, but also “probably gas”. I discounted muscle spasm, on account of not having any in that area, but it was kind of like that. Or… you know when you get that random eyelid flickering thing. That thing. Only in your bits.

And since I’ve already experienced a wide and exciting range of incubation-related gaseous issues, that conclusion was a little dodgy too: it felt nothing like that. Always in that region, moving round a bit, sporadic over about half an hour. Kind of like little taps or flicks, but from the inside. I dutifully made note of it and continued my zombied afternoon.

Fast forward to 16.6, 8:30pm and I was on the couch watching The Lives of Others (slow, but recommended if you like a) foreign films b) the German language c) a decent… sloooowly unfolding… story). The twitching started again and I thought to myself “RIGHT!”. I was going to catch it in the act. I put my hand over the general region and waited.

And the lil fecker kicked me right on my palm.

Apparently it’s quite early to feel anything from the outside, but I most certainly did. Again, I must refer back to the me not having any notable muscular component to my abdominal region. And it may have felt like a little tap, but I know there was evil intent behind it. The future commander of the head-mounted-laser-wearing cat army does not like to be interfered with when venting its aggression. Apparently.

I like how the majority of people on the intarweb seem to describe their baby’s first movement as ‘like a butterfly’, ‘like fluttering’ or ‘like bubbles’, where I am forced to describe it as ‘like a very small annoyed person is inside you and kicking you for the pure hell of it, only it’s too little and pathetic for it to hurt yet.’ Not bubbly at all.

So quite cool. Now we’re officially at 17 and it revisited me over breakfast (I assume it approves of Muffin Break’s apple & cinnamon muffins, which do not contain sultanas, and are easier to eat if not as good for us as the bran-laden carrot and banana variety. Or it may have been the coffee.) And appeared again over lunch, which I completely blame on the chocolate milk I was quaffing, having craved it all morning.

Oh, and Sam missed the big event last night, cause the useless so&so fell asleep on the couch before 8, then moved into the bedroom and recommenced sleepage. AND he overslept this morning and had to ‘borrow’ money from me for a taxi to get to work on time. Boy’s livin’ on the edge I tells ya.

Man, I need more photos in these things. Here’s something completely unrelated til I get my ass in gear:

Ooo woodgy woodgy woodgy. Fizz is more pointy in the real worlds.