Josh’s frown deepens. “And?”
“Well…” I shrug uncomfortably. “I guess if something could be wrong, it might be good to know about it, but on the other hand, the test they do can only give you a percentage. I don’t think I want to get an amniocentesis, even though it’s more certain in terms of any diagnoses. It carries a risk of miscarriage or other complications. Very small, but still.” Now that I’ve come to terms with this pregnancy, I realize I want to go through with it no matter what.
“Well then, it doesn’t sound like we need a lot of extra tests,” Josh says reasonably.
I feel a little wave of relief, because that’s how I feel, too. I appreciate that there are tests that might be crucial or life-saving for some couples, but surely, that’s not the case for us now. Knowing myself, if I was told a percentage of what could go wrong, I’d just obsess about it and create needless anxiety and angst, of which I already have an abundance. I don’t need to spend the next four and a half months worrying about what might—or might not—go wrong.
“Okay,” I reply with a smile and a nod.
Josh smiles back, seeming as glad as I am to be on the same page with this.
A short while later, we’re being led to a darkened room for the ultrasound. Just a few weeks ago, I was in this exact same room, albeit with a different technician, fearing I was in the process of having a miscarriage. I don’t have the same kind of fear now as I did then, but I still feel as nervous as I am excited.
I scoot onto the examining table, and Josh reaches over to grasp my hand, even before I’ve properly lain down. I shoot him a quick smile as I twine my fingers with his, then wait expectantly for the technician to do her thing. She does, squirting the cold, clear gel on my bare stomach, talking me through what she’s going to do. I pretend to be listening while my brain is actually going a million miles per hour. We’re going to find out if it’s a boy or a girl!
Why, I wonder distantly, does that even matter so much? Like Josh, I’d be happy with either. Yet knowing will make it—him or her—so much morereal.
Then, the technician is pushing the wand into my tummy, hard enough to hurt just a little, especially considering I’ve drunk a liter and a half of water for this endeavor, and I’ll count it a blessing if I don’t pee myself.
“So, there is a baby…” she murmurs, and Josh lets out a little gasp as we train our gazes on the black-and-white screen. Miracle of miracles, thereisa baby there—arms and legs, fingers and toes, bigger than the last time we saw him or her just a few weeks ago, now much more of ababy. A person.
“Abby, look.” Josh’s voice is full of wonder, just as it was the last four times we did this, and it makes me smile tearily. “They’re sucking their thumb.”
I make a small, choking sort of sound as I see that he’s right—a tiny arm, hand, thumb, and mouth, all working together. Legskicking. Heart beating. Every time, it’s a miracle. It just seems…impossible, somehow, that life can go on like this. That inside me,right now, there is a human being. I once semi-joked to Josh that I felt like I was inAlien, taken over by this other being, but right now, all I feel is joy.
I had a lot of ambivalence about this pregnancy—my age, my stage in life, the plans I’d made for myself and my family that did not include a pregnancy or a fifth child—but right now, as our baby kicks inside of me, I am only thankful.
“So, everything is looking good…” the technician says slowly as she takes various measurements that mean nothing to me but are obviously significant. “Baby is measuring right on target and looks to be about eight ounces.”
Eight ounces of baby and yet I’ve gained fifteen pounds already. That I’ll never understand.
“And…” Josh glances at me before asking hesitantly, “would you mind telling us if… you know… you can tell if…”
“A boy or a girl?” The technician gives us both a look of tolerant amusement. “I can’t say for certain, but I’d be willing to place a bet that you’re going to be welcoming a little girl.”
“A girl!” Josh exclaims in wonder, as if he doesn’t have two already. I understand his amazement. Agirl… I can already picture her toddling around, hair like cotton candy, drooly grin, sticky hands outstretched… all right,maybeI’m imagining that cute girl from a Pampers ad, butstill. Knowing our baby is a girl makes it all the more real, in a good way.
“So, Jack might be bummed out,” Josh remarks pragmatically once we’re heading back home, the ultrasound printout in my purse. I’m driving, since Josh isn’t up for it yet with his leg, and I glance at him swiftly before turning my eyes back to the road. The rush-hour traffic out of Buckholt can be surprisingly intense sometimes.
“But not seriously,” I protest. I know Jack was hoping for a little brother, but surely he doesn’t have his heart set on one? Although knowing Jack… no, he’ll get over it. Of course, he will.
Meanwhile, we have a little babygirlto think about. My stomach swirls with wonder and excitement, and yes, a few nerves as well. I mean… having a baby is a big deal. I should know. I’ve had four of them.
Josh reaches for my hand, clasping it lightly before letting go. “You’re happy about this?” he asks, a lilt of uncertainty as well as hopefulness in his voice.
I know he has every right to ask the question. I was very obviouslynotthat happy about this for some months, but it still hurts just a little that he feels he has to ask. I smile and nod, maybe even a little more firmly than I actually feel. This is still a process.
“Yes,” I say, and reach for his hand again. “Very happy.”
CHAPTER THREE
Gender reveal parties were most definitely not a thing when I was having my first four kids, but this time around, it feels kind of fun. Josh and I are both excited to tell the kids the news about baby number five, and so on the way home from the ultrasound, we stop at Kroger for some pink balloons and birthday candles.
A couple of weeks ago, I told Cara, my manager, that I was pregnant. To be fair, it was getting kind of obvious.
She looked stunned, and after opening and closing her mouth a few times, remarked slowly, “Wow… I thought you wereold.”
And I thought you were an infant, I almost quipped, but didn’t. Cara may be a teenager, but she’s still my boss. And to be fair, Iamold, at least to be having a baby. As my OB has told me more than once, forty-four is officially firmly in the geriatric pregnancy camp, which makes me feel like I should be hobbling into my appointments on a Zimmer frame. Or maybe that’sJosh. Three weeks on from getting his cast off, he’s still walking with a limp.
