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I caress his cheek. “A healthy baby. I don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl. When this is over, I just want to hold our baby in my arms and tell him or her how much they are loved.”
“Me, too.” He kisses me quickly. “Come on, we gotta go.”
Noah drives us to the doctor’s office. I have the window down, the music playing, and I’m enjoying the nice weather. Noah presses a button on the console and the song changes. Our dads’ voices come through the speakers. I roll my eyes.
“Seriously?”
“What?” he asks as if he doesn’t know what he’s done. “It’s their greatest hits. It hasn’t even been released yet.”
“And you’re what, giving them free promo as we drive down the Boulevard?”
Noah laughs and taps the steering wheel to the song playing. I can’t help but move along to the beat and recite the words. They’re not even my favorite band, and I still know all the words to their songs. He turns it up, likely to drown out my nasally sound, but I don’t care. I sing louder.
By the time we reach the office, the twelve-track compilation has finished and we’re both happily laughing at how silly we act sometimes.
While we’re walking in, Noah says, “I’m going to call my parents and tell them to get to town so we can tell them all at once.”
“Tell them to plan on tomorrow,” I say as I text my mom and tell her. “This way we have one night with the news before we have to share it.”
“And I can come up with the ultimate way to tell them. The whole we’re pregnant reveal was pretty kick ass if I do say so myself.”
“Yes, Noah. You totally slayed the reveal.” I roll my eyes and step out of reach as he tries to grab me and rush toward the elevator.
“Don’t run,” he yells down the hall. “You’ll give the baby a concussion.”
My mouth drops open as he approaches. “You know that’s not possible, right?”
He nods. “But it got you to stop running.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
The elevator door opens, and we wait for the people to step out. One does a double take when they pass by Noah, but I pull him in, press the button and then jam my finger against the close button. Normally, I don’t care except today.
Today, I want us to be expectant parents. I want my husband to be normal and to be treated as such.
In the office, I check in and then sit down. My bladder is full of the excess water I had to drink and I feel the need to squirm in my seat. My husband, though, stands and goes to the water fountain for a drink. And then another. Sometimes I want to berate him for acting like a child, but he doesn’t do it on purpose.
Noah brings me a cup of water. I shake my head.
“I’m not thirsty,” I tell him.
“Doctor said you should stay hydrated.”
“Believe me, I am. I drank a bunch for this appointment. A full bladder is required for this ultrasound.”
Noah nods as if he understands. He drinks the cup he brought me and takes it to the trash before coming back to sit next to me.
“I’m nervous.”
“Me, too,” I tell him. “But everything is good.”
I lean back and tap my fingers against my growing stomach almost as if I’m playing the drums, just like my dad taught me to do when he first met my mom. I still remember how he sat me on his lap and let me beat the drums with his drumsticks. He didn’t care if I did any damage. This was my outlet for the rage I felt after my father died. I can’t wait for my dad to teach his grandchildren how to play the drums and write songs. It’s my hope this child has either musical or athletic talent. I wouldn’t mind having a basketball player in the house or a piano player. Noah and I agreed we won’t pressure our child to do anything. Whatever they want to do, they can and when they want to quit, as long as they have a reason, we’ll let them. Knowing how Liam was raised is something Noah and I don’t want for our child.
When I see the nurse come out, I sit up, anticipating my turn only for her to call for another patient.
“We’ll be next,” Noah says.
“I know. The nerves have turned into anticipation. I’m excited.”
