I find that I want Richard to feel everything I feel–every kick, every push, every minor adjustment. As we get closer to delivering, I feel very movement that much more acutely, sometimes in a way that makes me wonder if he is struggling to free himself of what might no longer be a haven. As soon as I feel something, I grab for Richard’s hand (if he is home and nearby), and place it on my belly. He often presses down firmly with the palm of his hand, not sensing anything through my skin, so I will tell him to poke me with three of his fingers, and still nothing, though I think for my sake he believes he feels a little something. When we are lying surface to surface and the baby is kicking, I am so confident that Richard must feel it too, for how strongly I do, but he normally does not. Yet, sometimes, like yesterday, he rests his head on my belly–either to feel Oliver or just to be close to me–and if Oliver happens to kick or move when he is in that position, it startles and excites him.
My desire to share these experiences with him comes from more than just my fascination and delight in the movement. It is as if he has already been born, and I am positioning him between us. Oliver has become part of us, part of the love that we share with one another, part of us as individuals, part of the couple we make. He is ours and I do not want to possess him, nor do I want both of us to, because he belongs to the world. Sometimes, for me, that world is Richard. Soon it will be whatever we should call the reality we experience every day, and he will find his own way with us to guide him.
If only Richard and I could share this womb my body has created, if only.
