Hello My Baby, Hello My Darlin', Hello My Ragtime Gal

You know the song, don't deny it. In the cartoon, the guy finds the frog in the cornerstone, and the frog starts singing.


The guy gets dollar signs in his eyes and takes the frog to a booking agent where the frog sits in the box and gives an indifferent croak. The guy tries to make him dance


And the frog does nothing.

How does this relate to us? I have come to the conclusion that this child is a reincarnation of Michigan J. Frog. For hours a day, she is jumping around, moving, poking, and doing high kicks. And this is reassuring to me because it means that she's OK, so I'm not complaining.

But the moment that I put someone else's hand on my belly, or that she's on deck for an ultrasound that is supposed to track her movement, there she goes, collapsing into an indifferent crouch, doing her best "No, really, I'm just a frog" imitation. Yesterday, the tech at the perinatalogist's office actually commented on her lack of movement, and said "Hmm, looks like we'll have to zap her." I'll say that again: "LOOKS LIKE WE'LL HAVE TO ZAP HER." What?! She brings in this device that can only be described as a miniature cattle prod, puts it on my belly, and pushes the button. I jump, baby jumps, Rob looks on in horror because they are evidently electrocuting his wife and child (it really wasn't so bad, just startling). And all of this because Speck only performs for me.

I've spent months trying to get other people to see this show. There have been nights where I slept 30 minutes at a time because she was so active. I've had to walk out of meetings because I couldn't sit comfortably because of the movement. And the second anyone looks at it, or I give in and say "OK, come here for a second" and try to let someone else get in on the action, she goes back to her peaceful slumber. People look at me like I'm nuts. Rob thought I was making it up until he snuck a peek one night (when Speck obviously wasn't looking) and caught sight of a couple of backflips for himself.

*sigh*

Everything is good. Probably too good, in fact. Her heartrate is still strong, she's in no distress, my blood pressure is really good, plenty of amniotic fluid. My OB took a measurement of my belly, and said "I don't know where you're packing this kid!" because while Speck's a normal size, I'm running a bit small. She's got another patient who's also 38 weeks who is "big as a house" and can barely move around. So I'm lucky there. And I'm taking comfort in reminding myself that she can't stay in there forever.

Can she?