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Although, I will say my body alreadyfeelsdifferent, so the hormone thing that Avery mentioned might actually be legitimate. The nausea seems to be getting worse, and my aching tits are next-freaking-level. Do you know how hard it is to carry dogs at the center with nipples that feel like a light breeze will set them on fire?
Not fun.
But I’m not complaining about any of it because it’s just all the comfort I need to know that things are still…developing in there. Bring on the ultrasound.
The nurse pats my leg and looks under the blue drop cloth. “Keep scooching.”
The paper is agonizingly loud as it peels off my ass when I scooch some more.
“Come on now, don’t be shy,” she says as she continues staring at me under the blanket. “Scooch, scooch, scooch!”
I swallow nervously and shift down more. Does she have to gaze at my bajingo so enthusiastically while I do this?
“Almost there.”
“My feet are going to fall out of these stirrups if I keep going,” I snap, sitting up on my elbows to look at her with fury.
“Yeah, hasn’t she scooched enough?” Wyatt’s deep voice booms in the room, making no mistake that he’s just as irritated as I am.
Or was. I’m suddenly less irritated after hearing Wyatt use the word “scooch.” He looks at me and scowls, clearly wondering why my belly is shaking with silent laughter.
“That should do it,” the lady says, and before I know it, she’s shoved that damn wand up inside me without any warning.
This is happening!I currently have a giant dildo-like wand up my bajingo with my baby daddy and his mom breathing the same air.This is totally normal.
“Based on your last menstrual cycle, you’re about seven weeks and four days along.” She clicks on the screen and then points at what she’s measuring. “And that’s right where you’re measuring! Congratulations…” She pauses as her eyes move off me and to Wyatt. “…Dad!”
Wyatt blinks back at her, his face completely unreadable. He moves closer to me, his eyes glued to the screen. “Is that…?”
“The baby? Yep!” She moves the wand inside me as if zooming in for a close-up. “That’s your little jelly bean (goat turd), and the M&M-looking thing right next to it is a yolk sac (smaller goat turd). The baby feeds on that until the placenta is formed.”
“Jelly bean and M&M,” he repeats, surprising me yet again with words I wouldn’t expect him to utter.
“Let’s see how the heartbeat sounds.” The tech zooms in further on a tiny little fluttering happening inside the jelly bean and thenturns a knob on her computer to suddenly fill the room with the sound of a thundering beat.
“That sounds fast,” I blurt out, feeling an unexpected wave of anxiety hit me all at once. I need this to go perfectly for myself and the people in the room whose eyes suddenly feel heavy on me.
“Let’s just see how fast it is,” she replies, looking completely unbothered when I am very fully bothered. My heart rate doesn’t get that high even when I’m forced to run, which I never do. “We’re sitting right at 132 bpm. Perfect for this gestational age.”
I sigh with relief and hear a strange noise come from Wyatt.
“Oh, sweetie.” Wyatt’s mother moves over to put her arm around her son’s waist. Her hand strokes his side in a soothing way, and I watch the embrace like a complicated movie with subtitles. She whispers in his ear, “That’s your baby right there.”
Wyatt clears his throat, and the two of them embrace for a moment, the sounds of his mother’s sniffles fighting with the racing heartbeat on the speaker.
“I wish your dad was here to see this,” she croaks into his chest, and I feel a heaviness in my stomach.
“Me too, Mom.” He lifts his head, and I have to look away because the sight of an emotional Wyatt is too much for me to bear. Seeing this happy family unit is honestly too much for me to handle. I thought it would be interesting to watch…like I could learn something…but it just makes me feel yucky inside.
My family existed like ships passing in the night. No hugs, no meals, no attending appointments together. Certainly no sharing in big life experiences.
I remember making the honor roll in middle school and my mom telling me she’d try to make it. I stood with the other students to accept my medal and stared out into the audience for her. I even deluded myself into thinking my dad might show up and surprise me. Like one of those military parents who return home from war, and everyone tears up as they watch him embrace his kid.
But not my family.
No one showed.
My medal wasn’t spoken of, even after I left it on the kitchen table, hoping someone might at least want to congratulate me.
