I have never been a baby person.
That doesn't mean I kick puppies or shoot small, woodland animals on the weekend. I've just never imagined myself as the cooing baby sort of gal. Give me a difficult teen in angst or an 8 year old with worldly opinions; just don't ask me how great babies smell.
Over the last couple of months, several very close friends gave birth. This time, though, they were actually close enough for me to witness it all. Not the birth- please- I'm not that close to anyone!- but the progressive growth of her belly, the firmness of her stomach, pressed tight with new life and daily changes. I've never had a friend close enough to visit weekly, to have her push my hands onto her stomach to feel the flutter inside or watch the movement of his tiny kicks change the shape of her abdomen. With as skirmish as I get around the medical community or anything that has to do with occurrences beneath the skin, I never imagined being intrigued or even interested in learning (let alone watching) such personal, intimate moments.
I was so ignorant.