We? I guess that’s Baby Raspberry and me. “Good, thank you. And you?”
With a professional smile, she says, “Absolutely wonderful. Your pregnancy test came back positive, but I’m sure you were expecting that. Let’s get started, shall we?”
Many minutes later, I’ve been thoroughly questioned and undergone a slightly uncomfortable (but safe from my nervous chatter) pelvic exam. “What we need to do next is some bloodwork and send it off to the lab. I suspect you’re around eight weeks or so, but we’ll do an ultrasound to make sure. It’s better on a full bladder, so after we draw blood, I’m going to ask you to drink a bottle of water. Then we’ll get a tech in here to perform the ultrasound, okay?”
This is getting more real by the minute. It’s hitting me now. Eight weeks. “Okay,” I say foggily.
In a daze, I watch a nurse come in to take my blood. When she reaches to prepare the syringe, I turn my head and close my eyes. “I can’t watch this part. I really, really hate needles.”
“I’m sorry, hon. If it helps any, I’m fast and accurate, so it’ll be over with in no time. Wrap your hand into a fist and relax your arm for me.”
True to her word, she’s through before I know it, and I’m alone in the room again. Guzzling down the water, I wait and take stock of my situation. I’m doing this without Silas. He told me I’d be on my own if I chose to go through with the pregnancy. And I will be. I can’t depend on any of my family for help because they’re terrible human beings. Even if they lived close enough, I wouldn’t want any of them near my baby.
You deserve more.
Connor Shay’s comforting words to me sound again in my mind. He’s right. I deserve more, and I always have. Why did I stick with Silas for so long when I knew it probably wasn’t going to get better? For the sake of having a warm body to come home to? Because we were childhood friends who turned into comfortable lovers for the convenience?
That’s no reason to keep putting myself through this misery.
You deserve more.
Oh, God...and now I’m about to cry again as I hug myself. “I promise you, baby. Things are changing today.”
“Ms. Taylor?”
Why do they always catch me when I’m about to break down? “Come in,” I call again, just like earlier.
“Ready to see this baby?”
“So ready.”
The tech gets everything ready and carefully inserts the lubed wand. Good God, the things a mother does for love. And I know the personal invasion and lack of privacy is only beginning. I mentally sigh as I fight the urge to pee.
The room is silent as the tech moves the wand around, only broken up by the occasional click of the keyboard. I’m watching the screen, but I have no idea what I’m looking at.
“Let’s see how many babies we’re dealing with here.”
I tense around the wand and hold my breath. More than one? I don’t know that I could do that. My mind flies back to the woman in the waiting room with two sets of twins. No...it’s got to be just one.
“Looks like it’s just the one.”
My breath leaves me in a rush.Thank God.
“And here’s your baby, Ms. Taylor,” the tech points out. “See this? This is the head, and this part’s the body. There’s baby’s arm. And this part right here”—the yellow arrow on the monitor draws a circle around a small, pulsing blob—“is baby’s heartbeat. Let’s just see if we can hear it.”
A rushed thumping fills the room. Ohmigod. Just when I think it can’t get any more real, it does. My little baby has a beating heart. A tear slips from the corner of my eye and slides into my hairline.My baby. But what’s that other...
“Oh...what’s this? This little one was hiding. You’re having twins, Ms. Taylor! Let’s get some pictures for you.”
Twins.I see it, plain as day. And then I hear my other baby’s heartbeat, a rapid thump that’s almost as fast as the first baby’s.
Oh, God.
Twins.
Shell-shocked, I know the doctor comes back in and tells me something about folic acid, exercise, and more appointments, but I swear it’s like I’m trying to listen from underwater because I can’t process anything else other than the fact that I’m having twins.
Somehow, I dress myself and pay the clinic three hundred dollars for the exam, bloodwork, and ultrasound. Then my shaky legs carry me to the car, where I collapse into the seat and stare with unseeing eyes through the cracked windshield. How am I going to take care of two babies? That’s twice the diapers. Twice the bottles. Twice the clothes.
