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Like an over-caffeinated bumblebee, she opens and shuts cabinets until she finds a set of horribly Pepto-Bismol-colored socks and rips them out of the plastic. Without asking, she drops into a squat and rolls the hose over my feet and all the way up to my knees, making sure the no-slip grip is on the bottom.
“Restroom?” she prompts, and as soon as the words are out of her mouth, my bladder boils over as if it’s about to explode.
“Yes, please!” I agree enthusiastically, and like a mother helping her babe take its first steps, Angie follows me to the adjoining bathroom with her hands millimeters above my hips, allowing me to walk alone but ready to catch me should I stumble. Which—I’m as wobbly as a toddler for reasons unknown.
I snatch my phone off the table as I shuffle past.
Or maybe the reason is that within the last twelve hours, I’ve had emergency surgery and discovered that I was pregnant.
Pregnant.
A bubble of laughter escapes as I pass through the restroom's threshold. The nurse gives me a bemused smile but doesn’t say anything other than “holler if you need me” as she shuts the door between us.
I need to call the boys. As soon as possible. Are they okay? Are they happy? Or are they freaking out? What about Remi? My poor Remi is probably at home pacing at this very moment. Oh, my poor sweet boy. Justin has most likely been insufferable.
I send them both a text, on the off chance they aren’t together.
Getting an ultrasound to hear the baby’s heartbeat. I can’t wait to see you.
I wait for a few seconds with my phone firsted in my grip, aching for a text back, or better yet, a call, but when it doesn't happen, I place the device on the counter and get down to business.
* * *
My heart speeds up,or maybe I just realize it’s never slowed down when I stare at my reflection in the mirror as I wash my hands. I look like a disaster, with hair in every direction and bags under my eyes.
But I’m grinning, and I can’t even stop it. I try. I physically try to lower the sides of my mouth and suck my lips between my teeth. But—Nope. Still smiling. My breathing stutters in my chest on a half-sob, half-laugh of joy. I’m glowing in a halo of yellow.
Happiness is literally dripping from my pores.
I take an extra minute and pull the hem of the hospital gown up to just under my rib cage. There are the incisions from the surgery, three of them, each covered with a piece of tape. The incisions are pink with black crusted around them.
Blood. Ew.
I turn to the side and place my hand gently on my abdomen. I…I almost look pregnant. But how can that be, because I didn’t look pregnant yesterday morning? Is it a figment of my imagination? Or maybe it’s swelling from the surgery. I certainly feel bloated, and she did say they filled my belly with gas.
But looking at the soft curve under my belly button—the little pouch that's sticking up over the baby-fine hair I haven’t had waxed in almost two months—right there, under my fingers, lies a baby. Our baby is right at this moment, growing inside my stomach.
I’m going to be a mother, and I didn’t even know it.
Not exactly an auspicious start, I chuckle to myself.
“You okay in there,” Angie asks through the bathroom door.
“Yeah,” I startle and let the hospital gown slip from my fingers. “Sorry.”
When I open the door to the bathroom, Angie has the wheelchair locked and loaded right inside the door frame. “I was just looking at the incision in the mirror.”
Angie nods her head knowingly and pats the back of the wheelchair. “Ready to ride?” She asks, bouncing on her toes.
I can’t tell if she’s excited for me, or maybe she needs to maintain this level of output to keep her going throughout what I can only assume is a very long day. But her smile seems a duplicate of mine, and mine is so wide it’s about to slip right off my face.
“Ready?” she asks as she tucks the blanket she brought with her around my thighs and tucks my hands into my lap.
“Absolutely!” I confirm, suddenly no longer tired.
No. I’m all but floating out of the chair.
I’m going to go see our baby.
