“He kicks, like, a LOT,”
I told my husband, my mom, my coworkers, and anyone else who would listen.
“Yep!” they replied, cheerfully. “Babies in the womb do that. Isn’t it fun??”
They do, and it was, but man. I couldn’t help but think that even as a first time pregnant mom, this felt like a lot. And they were hard kicks.
Then, Rory was born.
Now everyone gets what I was talking about. Because Rory is seriously the most wiry, active, and intense baby I have ever seen.
I thought those kicks were rough on my bladder, but they were nothing compared to the ones in my back/face/stomach/personal space every morning.
And I love it. I really do. My baby is so sweet and fun and he’s my absolute favorite, but I’m starting to realize something: he is NOT the docile, low-maintenance child of my dreams.
You may argue that this sounds like most babies, and you’d be right, but if you have met Rory, you probably know what I’m talking about.
I was never a very active person. I could easily spend all day in my room, reading, if my mom didn’t have something to say about it.
She can’t say as much about it now so I’ve spent most of the day in my room alternating between nursing and blogging (love you, mom).
Rory, on the other hand, has actively pursued hobbies in doorway jumping, twisting frantically while being held, and grabbing everything within reach.
My life streak of never being involved in team sports is probably gonna end because we are going to seriously NEED some type of water polo and/or track-and-field-type-situation in a few years here.
Maybe more similarities will show up in the future, but for now, my baby is nothing like me. Rory is going to surprise us in so many delightful (and not-so-delightful) ways, and I’m going to have to stretch myself to become the parent he needs.
I think we’ll figure it out. I can’t wait.