Near the end of August, 2010, I went to a Cowboys game. My first Cowboys game. I think it was the first picture I had taken of me with my pregnant belly. I was happy. Really, really happy. I thought the baby was really happy at the game, too. He was unusually active. I told Brad he liked the game and the excitement. We were going to have another generation of Dallas Cowboys fans in the family. So happy. That day was one of the last days I remember feeling him move. Now looking back, it makes me feel sick.
I thought he was excited by the sounds of the game. Was he in distress? Was he in pain? Was he scared? While I was out having a great time, was he calling out for help and I couldn't hear him? Should I have been more aware that something was wrong? I was his mother. I should have known. He was usually such a chill mover. I should have paid closer attention. Maybe things would have been different? Maybe?