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He kicks where he feels the pressure.

It could be my hand leaning on my belly for support as it holds a book, or the lap part of my seat belt. It could be a hand pressing in, wiggling for his attention.

He responds, coming up from underneath like a shark.

BOOM.

If he gives a little twitch, and I poke back, there will be a thoughtful pause, and then an energetic retaliation in the same spot.

BOOM.

I don’t know whether the pressure annoys him, or whether he enjoys knowing where we are. He’s still small enough that he can move up under my ribs, or go down to cuddle on my bladder, so surely a leaning arm or a pressing belt could be avoided. Maybe he’s contrary. Or maybe he just likes saying “hey you! Pay attention!”

Things I may find out about him one day.

But in the meantime, we lie in bed every night, and he twitches, and I poke back, and he kicks harder, and I poke twice. If I move my hand drastically, he can’t spot the new location of my pokes right away. But if I move it just a little bit at a time, he’ll kick closer and closer until he is coming up right under my hand again.

I’m either annoying the hell out of my son, or playing with him. I’m not sure which he thinks it is.

***

In other news, I spoke to my mother last night. She says they buried my Nana in a Mary-Kay-Pink casket with brass handles. They kept the top open for the first part of the funeral, which makes me kind of glad I wasn’t there, and apparently the funeral home made videos, which my Aunt Helen is going to make copies of for everyone.

Mum said there was an awkward moment when my great aunt asked my mother how she liked the casket that they had picked out. My mother has a lot of awkward moments with my father’s side of the family.

“I think she would have liked it,” was what she settled on, and it’s probably true.