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“Um… September the eighth, I think.”
She spins a cardboard wheel around, then takes down some notes.
“Makes you about four weeks pregnant. Still early days, so let’s get a blood test done next week.” Her voice carries on, an overwhelming amount of information which is difficult for me to take in. “Have you been taking your prenatal vitamins.”
“Uh, no. I wasn’t exactly planning for this.”
Dr. Somersby pauses, her eyes showed a kind of gentle concern. “You do want to go ahead with this pregnancy, don’t you?”
I sit quietly, careful not to show any emotion. I want to tell her how terrified I am, how the timing is all wrong. I’m desperate to share my anxiety of becoming a mother again, losing my identity, and worrying my marriage will suffer because I won’t be able to manage it all.
Yet, I fear her judgment. I fear everyone’s judgment.
Instead, I force a smile. “Of course.”
She continues to give me information on what I need to do, but most importantly, to take it easy and enjoy the pregnancy.
On the way home, I crank up the stereo playing Alanis Morissette. Angry-girl music is just what I need to prepare myself mentally for a night with friends and forget, even for a few hours, that inside me, I’m carrying a baby.
Masen’s a terror when I pick him up from pre-school. According to the teacher, he tried to shove another kid in the sandpit, then ran off with his toy. When the teachers tried to discipline him, he told them his dad would send them to jail. It was very out of character for him which prompted a meeting about his behavior.
In the car, I try my best to explain to him why his actions were uncalled for.
“You don’t push other children.”
“Daddy pushes you,” he argues back, folding his arms as I watch him for a brief moment in the rearview mirror.
“Daddy has never pushed me,” I correct him.
He nods his head. “Yes, he did. He pushed you onto the bed and then he wrestled you. Your pants fell off and you told him to stop, but he didn’t, then you thought it was funny but then you made a crying sound.”
I slam my foot hard on the brake, only noticing the red light at the last minute. Behind me, a car beeps its horn at my erratic driving. I start to hyperventilate, gasping for air as the temperature rises. My finger fumbles for the button to open the window, welcoming the fresh air.
Clearing my throat, I turn around to look at Masen. “That was play wrestling. We both agreed to wrestle. It’s different, okay? Please don’t push anyone.”
Turning back around, the traffic light turns green prompting me to accelerate.
When we pull into the driveway, I tell Masen to get changed so we can head over to Charlie’s house when Haden gets home. He disappears into his room, and the second Haden walks through the door, I pull him aside.
“Masen saw us.”
“Doing what?” he asks, removing his shirt and dumping it on the floor. I pick it up, annoyed, throwing it into the dirty-clothes basket.
“Having sex.”
He stops mid-search for his polo shirt. “How do you know?”
I explained what happened at pre-school, then what Masen told me in the car. I expected Haden to be mortified like me but instead, he breaks into a fit of laughter.
“So, he saw us… he’s four. He’s not going to remember.”
“We need to be more careful,” I warn him.
“C’mon, we barely fuck as it is. Stop sweating the small stuff. The kid is fine.” He shakes his head in amusement. “Honestly, woman, you need to chill the fuck out.”
Frustrated with his lack of paternal concern for his son, I throw my hands in the air and demand he be ready in five minutes. With Masen dressed, I grab a pasta salad I had prepared early this morning and take the dish to the car.
Lex and Charlie’s house never ceases to amaze me. I have been here so many times yet every time we pass the iron gates and drive up the long driveway, my jaw drops at its sheer beauty.
