Nancy’s voice brightens. “Let’s take a look at your little one. See that? That’s the head, right here,” she points. “And it looks like you’ve got a thumb sucker, Mom. Isn’t that cute?”
I swallow. My mouth is dry. “Yeah,” I manage. “Really cute.”
She keeps talking, maybe thinking it’ll keep me calm. “Here’s the heart, and it’s strong.” On the screen, there’s a little flutter, beating quick and steady. Ten fingers, ten toes. Let’s get a profile picture for you; parents always love that.”
Parents.
Plural.
The word lands heavy.
My hands are shaking, but I squeeze them together and hope the tech doesn’t notice.
Nancy makes another adjustment, pressing the wand deeper, and the baby’s foot kicks out on the screen. I feel it too, that soft ripple across my insides.
I smile. Not a real one, not the kind that lights up your face and your eyes…your whole soul.
The tech glances over, but I keep my focus on the stained ceiling tile above me, counting the little brown specks like they’re stars.
“One more thing. You wanted to know the sex, right?”
I nod, biting down hard on the inside of my cheek.
She leans in, eyes focusing as she zooms in on the grainy blur. “Well, looks like I’ve got some news for you.” Big smile, “Congratulations. It’s a girl.”
The word knocks something loose in my chest. I can’t breathe for a second. My eyes are hot and wet.
“A…a girl?” I whisper. My throat feels raw.
She keeps smiling, nodding like it’s the best news ever. “Yep. No doubt about it. You’re halfway there, Mom. Let me get you some pictures. Hold on.”
I can’t even blink.
My daughter.
Right there, kicking the hell out of my uterine wall, refusing to be ignored. Even at twenty weeks, she’s stubborn. Maybe she gets that from me. Maybe it’s all him.
My head spins and I wait for some sense of relief, but it never comes. Instead, I get this tidal wave of wanting. I want Ben here. Wishing that this was his baby, and our moment.
The thoughts cutting sharper than any blade.
Nancy wipes the wand clean, peeling the paper towel off my hip in one practiced motion. She turns back to the printer, its hum fills the silence, and the pictures start rolling out in strips.
On screen, my daughter floats, oblivious and perfectly real. I reach for the photo as the tech hands it to me. My fingers are shaking so bad I nearly drop it.
“That’s her right there, this is the profile…” Nancy explains the printouts, lining them up like mugshots, each one stamped in black with my name and the date. “She was really moving today.”
I try to respond, but my lips are numb. I nod, clutching the black and white photos so hard they nearly wrinkle.
“Are you okay?” the tech asks, and there’s something careful in her voice.
“Yeah. I’m fine,” I lied. “Thanks.”
She prints a few extras, “for whoever’s waiting at home.” I force myself to smile, but it’s brittle as glass.
“That’s great,” I say. “He’ll…he’ll be excited.”
Lie number two.
