I went for my second appointment at the birthing center today. Our first was about a week and a half ago. I had every intention to blog that day — we heard the baby’s heartbeat for the first time. I cried. Listening to that little heart beat so fast through all those layers of belly was amazing. I had no other words and felt I couldn’t give the experience the credit it deserved. Through all the nausea, vomiting, tiredness, and weird eating habits, my own body sidetracked me from what was really going on in there. There’s a whole new creature living inside of me, depending on me, a part of me, yet its own being. And I couldn’t find any means to express what I was feeling. So I neglected to blog, or even journal. I heard it beating again today, and it remains just as amazing, except this time I feel a connection to that little heart (especially since the baby kicked at the monitor). That’s my child, my baby, someone that will forever be apart of my (our) life, and the thought is consuming. I felt it kick for the first time today. Joshua said he felt it Christmas Eve morning. I awoke that day to his hand on my belly, and him yelling in my ear, “I felt it! I felt it!” Now I am no longer jealous of his ability to feel our baby’s movements. I usually just think it’s gas.