As I get closer to my due date and even closer to my planned C-section – my first, due to a risk of uterine rupture – my nerves and anxiety are increasing exponentially. I am so excited to meet this child but with every positive moment of hope comes its counter-thought of, “please don’t lose this one, too.”

I feel his movements, I love them so much. He generally has his active times and less active times and I understand that; my daughter and angel son had those too. But there is one form of movement that I cannot get enough of, it is my absolute favorite kind. Baby hiccups.

I have only clearly felt his hiccups a handful of times, more often at night and once recently at work.
Rhythmic and tiny, gloriously predictable from one to the next. I know they don’t last long (for us at least) so I keep my hand on my belly to enjoy the moment and really feel them.

In total, they usually last less than a minute, but in those seconds, I can relax. I have a home doppler machine to listen to his heartbeat too, which helped me a lot during my first rainbow pregnancy and with this one before I started to consistently feel his movements. It is still a sanity saver for me at times.

But how I love his sweet hiccups. I imagine him happy and healthy in there, getting ready to survive on the other side, not in distress and getting everything he needs, which his brother sadly did not get.

I’m told that this baby already has a lot of hair, just like I did and his sister did at birth, and maybe like his brother. His brother at 24 weeks was wearing a tiny handknit hat when he was placed in my arms, and I felt that he was too fragile for me to try to remove it, so I’ll never know if he was born with hair or not. Maybe he just had some lanugo peach fuzz. I wish I could go back in time and see.

This baby measures bigger than our two other children, and his facial features from a recent 3D ultrasound look so similar to theirs. He has his mama’s nose, his daddy’s lips, his mama’s cheeks, his daddy’s chin.

If I just keep imagining and picturing him here, alive and healthy. I just might convince myself even for a few brief moments that I have the confidence that I wish for. The belief and faith that I deserve but lost during my first pregnancy, of his ability to survive pregnancy and birth. Just a few more weeks to go because, medically-advised, I will not be going to 40 weeks. This small amount of time left to enjoy these fleeting moments of sweet kicks and feeling baby hiccups while dreaming the seemingly impossible into life.

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