Kicked

I was folding the babies' laundry when I felt it, a quick little thump in my tummy, likely an indigestion side effect from the copious amounts of Thanksgiving turkey I'd consumed the day before.  But there was a brief moment between feeling it and identifying its cause that my mind strayed and I thought, a kick.  It hadn't yet clicked in that, no, that certainly wasn't what it was.  Instead, I thought of Reid, the baby that used to kick me the same way in that same spot.  I instinctively put my hand over it, trying to "catch" it the way I always used to when I was pregnant, in that brief window of time when I got to feel my babies move.  And then, of course, I remembered that, nope, that's over now, and my heart sank a little.