Little Hands on my Growing Belly

The last time I was pregnant, Jack and Bella eyed my growing belly with suspicion bordering on terror. They touched it like a ticking time bomb, occasionally asking me whether it would pop open and whether there would be blood when it came time for the baby to come out. As I grew larger, I became more alien, more frightening, another sign that things were about to change in our house.

This pregnancy, my children cannot get enough of my swelling belly. They gravitate to it like moons in my orbit, soft hands touching me in passing. My belly is stroked, petted, and probed to feel the baby's gentle butterfly flutters. The transformation of my belly button is neat and cool, and when we read, they snuggle in close, thrilled that I've taken on this soft pillowy shape.

I've always been a little threatened when people touch my stomach during pregnancy, never quite understanding why its taut roundness is an open invitation to work colleagues and supermarket clerks. But I'm loving these little hands touching me, like a giant family hug before the baby is even here.

Thank you for indulging the pregnant ramblings of a happy mamma. Happy Wordful, Five Minutes Wordless, and Way-back wednesday.