“I would have peed all over the bed the moment she pressed my stomach,” he admits.
I snort. “I nearly did.”
I wash my hands when I’m finished and Jensen helps me back over to the table.
As soon as I’m settled again, the sonographer gives us her attention. “Better?”
“Yes.” I shuffle my leggings down again under my bump. “I nearly ruined your table.”
“You wouldn’t be the first.”
“Really?”
She nods and picks the probe back up. “It happens more than you think. Now, back to baby. Do you want to know the sex today?”
I glance up at Jensen, checking he’s still okay with our decision. He brushes a hand over my head.
“Yeah,” I say to her, “we do.”
No one speaks for a moment, and the only sound is the clicking of her machine as she takes measurements. “Okay, let’s have a look and then I’ll tell what you’re having. So your baby is measuring perfectly for twenty weeks. Everything looks great. Have you felt any movement yet?”
Jensen’s hand twitches in mine.
“I’m not sure.”
“It can feel light at this stage. If you’re feeling anything, that’s probably the baby.”
“Sometimes I get these little bubbles that I think could be them, but it’s probably just gas.”
The sonographer laughs, still clicking on her machine. “You wouldn’t believe how many people think their baby’s first movements are gas.”
“Should we be worried the baby hasn’t moved yet?” Jensen drops the question like a bomb. I snap my eyes to him. I didn’teven consider that it might be sign of an issue and now my stomach’s churning.
Her laughter morphs into a gentle smile. “In first pregnancies, it’s not unusual for movement to be felt a little later, but if there’s still nothing by twenty-four weeks, let your OB know. But those bubbles, Mia—that’s probably the start of your baby wiggling around in there. And I can see movement on the ultrasound.” She turns the screen toward us.
Unlike last time, I can see the clear outline of something baby shaped and, like she said, moving. My throat feels suddenly tight, my chest so full my breath comes out ragged.
“Fuck,” Jensen murmurs. “That’s our kid, Mia.”
“This bit here,” the sonographer points at the screen, “that means it’s a girl.”
I blink. And then I blink again because I can’t see through my tears. I knew it was a girl. I just… I had a feeling.
Jensen’s fingers lock around mine, and I glance up at him. My chest cracks open even wider. He looks destroyed, like he doesn’t know where to put all the feelings he’s having right now. His eyes are shiny, his jaw tight like he’s trying to hold back the dam of emotion and failing.
“It’s a girl,” I say in barely a whisper. “I told you.”
He lowers his gaze to me, and I swear I have never seen that look from him before. He’s so fucking gone that my usually controlled husband is unraveling in front of my eyes.
“Jensen? Are you okay?”
“Do you want me to get a chair?” the sonographer asks.
He scrubs his free hand over his face, but I can tell he doesn’t know where to put himself. “I’m pulling together every security protocol I have to protect our girl.”
Relief has me smiling. He’s okay. Just overwhelmed. “She’s not even born yet.” I swipe my wet cheeks.
“You have no idea how much I love you—both of you.” He rests his hand against the side of my belly, like he’s holding our daughter under his palm. He kisses me, soft and claiming. “My perfect little miracle maker.”
