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“That’s fucking wild,” Vince says, utterly awestruck. He kisses my forehead, “Lynds, we did that!” He beams.
“Yeah, we did,” I squeeze his hand. When we listen to the heartbeat, Vince starts full-on bawling and it’s hard for me to not tear up, too.
When I change out of my gown, Claire prints out ultrasound photos for the two of us and asks if I have any questions.
“Is she okay to tour?” Vince blurts before she can get the words out.
“I mean, I’m just a tech, but what does that entail for you?”
“I’m the tour manager so I make arrangements for all the shows while we’re on the road, keep track of scheduling, etc.”
“Okay, so to clarify, you’re not like a roadie, like, you’re not hauling amps or anything?”
I shrug, “I mean, I do sometimes.”
“Well, I’d advise you to stay away from any heavy lifting, but other than that, as long as you stay on top of your prenatal vitamins, you should be fine,” she says.
She hands each of us an ultrasound photo and tells me to schedule another appointment as soon as I’m back from tour.
We FaceTime my mom in the parking lot, and she picks up on the first ring.
“Hey guys, what’s up?”
Vince immediately shoves the ultrasound photo in the camera, and she gasps. “No way! First an engagement, now this? The two of you wasted no time,” she laughs.
I called her last night about the engagement, and while I wanted to give her some time to process it, I was too excited to keep this news to myself.
“It wasn’t exactly planned,” I admit.
My mom shrugs, “Well, neither were you.”
“Mom!”
“What? I thought my unfiltered opinions about motherhood would be welcomed now that you’re going to be someone’s mom. Hot tip: They’re gonna hate both of you from the ages of 14-17 but that levels out into deep gratitude once they go to college.”
“Duly noted, Mikki!” Vince whips out the tiny notebook he keeps in his pocket that usually stores song lyrics.
“Why are you writing this down?” I ask him.
“I’m doing research,” he grumbles, crossing the ’t’ in “hate you.”
“God, the two of you are going to be way more prepared than me and Mark ever were. Let me see the photo again!”
I show her the photo. “They have your nose,” she says.
“It’s just bones!”
“Well, they’re your nose bones! Remember, I knew you when you looked like that. Oh, that reminds me! I still have a bunch of your baby clothes in the attic. I was going to give them to your cousin for her baby last Spring, but something told me to keep them. Call it mother’s intuition.”
“Mom!”
“You’ll understand now that you’re a mother,” my coos self-satisfyingly.
Friday morning, I discovered that pregnancy gives me motion sickness.
“I fucking hate this,” I grumble from my spot on the couch.
My head is in Vince’s lap. I’m wearing motion-sickness goggles we found at a gas station, little plastic glasses with pods of water on the side that are supposed to trick my eyes and brain into not dissolving into a dizzy mess. It’s working, but I look like an idiot.
