I can recall as a child watching my mother holding and caressing the swell of her growing, baby belly, and I always found her behavior a bit peculiar. Even as I grew into a woman myself, in my twenties I would see pictures of friends who were with child or even strangers in the mall absently running a hand across their bulging abdomen, and I wouldn’t quite get it.
What is that silly grin on their face? I would wonder. And why do they touch it all the time?!
I suppose I just had to discover for myself. It wasn’t because their belly ached with the pains of a growing infant, although it certainly does that. It wasn’t gas or feeling bloated, even though you always do. And it wasn’t even due to an itchy abdomen, irritated from so much stretching skin, although that gnawing feeling does occur.
It turns out I had to experience the miracle of something living inside me, something that started as small as a speck of sand, but that grew into the size of a little watermelon to understand that it wasn’t just an absent gesture out of habit. It turns out a pregnant woman holding her belly was something more.
I can recall when I first discovered a baby was growing inside me. It seemed surreal, and though she was so very tiny, so small I wondered if she was even really there, the idea of her filled my heart with excitement. Before I realized what was happening my hand slid down to my flat belly, and it rested there in loving anticipation.
As my flat tummy began to swell I would find my hand going there more often. I still couldn’t feel her move, but I knew she was in there somewhere. Something about touching my swelling belly made it seem more real, as if the skin to skin contact helped me to connect with this baby I could not see.
But boy was I in for a surprise. When she began to flutter I was dumbfounded at the miracle, and then when she began to regularly squirm I was fascinated. As her kicks grew stronger and my tummy grew larger an amazing bond began to develop. I thought it was there from the start, but when I felt her move inside me it changed. The more she danced the more in love I grew.
My hand would fly suddenly to my stomach as my precious child grew and moved within me, kicking, stretching, making more room. I would cradle her folded up body, and I would speak lovingly to her.
My precious baby.
Then I even found myself worrying about this situation for which I had little control. Whether she moved around what I thought was too much, or especially if not at all, I would place my hand on my belly and pray for her. Heck, even if all seemed well I still regularly placed my hand on her to petition the Lord for her safety.
And to thank God for the miracle of life. Every time she squirmed like snakes in my tummy I would whisper, thank you Lord.
As I progress in my third pregnancy the awe hasn’t lessened. I’m still in shock when I see the perfect baby on ultrasound that I am growing, and every single time my third daughter squirms, bucks, or straightens inside me I am floored by the weight of what’s happening in my very own belly. My hand slides there, where it rightly belongs, and I touch the child I have yet to see in person.
Similar to my faith for a Savior I have never seen, I am absolutely in love with this child I have never met. And until I can see her face in person, hold her soft body in my arms, and place a tender kiss on her wrinkled, newborn head, I will place my hand lovingly on my pregnant belly. It’s like touching a miracle. That’s my connection for now, and that’s why I do it.