So…I figured it was about time for some photo updates – because I hadn’t put them on here in a while. If this is going to be a super-awesome compilation of reflective information about my pregnancy, I think I should have some super-cute pictures of my tumms to show off.
1. I dyed my locs! I’ve never had my hair dyed before – and I decided, after months of thinking about it – to get some sort of streaking done. I settled on bright red. And, I was super excited because the place that I went to not only dyed, styled, and super moisturized locs (and other forms of natural hair) BUT they also offered spa services…like prenatal massage. So. I spoiled myself. Pics and such behind the cut…
Monday I felt a flutter in my tummy that made me giggle. Could it be the baby moving?
Tuesday, when I felt the same flutter at around the same time (right when I was relaxing for bed) I felt more sure – it had to be the baby. Especially when they seemed to respond to my husband’s attempts to find them.
So of course, I had to call my mom.
"It’s too soon, though, isn’t it? I’m not yet 16 weeks!" I asked her.
"Well…most women don’t know what to feel for…"
"What was that?!"
"I think the baby just tickled my insides."
It’s a disconcerting feeling – though reassuring at the same time – to have something moving inside your abdomen. I keep half way expecting an alien to pop out at any moment. (That movie must’ve traumatized pregnant women everywhere.) And how I can be sure? I mean, it could be gas – so much of my life is gas at this point. There’s no ruling that out, especially when I feel a giant, downward, "lub" that feels like my entire stomach is phalumphing over.
I’ll officially hit week 16 tomorrow – and I’m still barfy…well, more like retchy. I’ve regressed back to how I felt at the very beginning of the pregnancy, just with less minute-to-minute queasiness. I’ve also found that I can now stop eating six times a day. I still eat more small meals than I did before, but I no longer get into these eat-or-barf situations every two hours.
Last year, I declared my freedom from torturing my hair – freedom from feeling less than because of my Creator-given kinks instead of holding them up with pride. It took a long time before I felt like my own hair was as glorious as that Paul spoke of…and even now, I occasionally catch myself trying to fight against my hair instead of, as I vowed, working with it.
And it’s been an interesting year. I’ve learned a lot about my own hair since my locs’ humble beginnings as comb coils. They’ve grown, they’ve unraveled, they’ve twisted and turned. They’ve separated and been combined…and it has been quite a journey.