A tiny thump started it, the worry and anxiety. Laying still in bed, staring at the ceiling fan, and counting tiny thumps; my mind raced. I twisted and turned in my sheets, flopping from one side of the bed to the other restlessly. What am I going to do?
With my eyes closed tight, I counted days from my mental calendar. Day thirty, that was sixty days and seven pounds ago. I reached my hand between the elastic band on my pajama shorts and my hip and pulled. My shorts are to tight.
Slowly bringing my hand to my stomach, I rested my fingers just below my belly button and felt the unmistakable feeling. Thump.