Her husband squeezed her hand. “He’s science-ing, Georgie. That’s how he knows.”
“Yep, a whole lotta science,” the doctor replied, raising his fist and getting a little bump from her husband.
Were these two bro-ing out over science?
“We’re not bro-ing out. We’re science-ing out,” Jordan replied.
She glanced between the men. “Did I just say what I was thinking out loud?”
“Many patients mention baby brain can put them in a bit of a fog. I suggest light exercise to stay regulated. For me, it’s tennis. I just won the men’s singles tournament at my country club. It keeps me sharp,” the shiny doctor added.
Georgie stared down at her abdomen. The man could have disclosed he’d won Wimbledon with one hand tied behind his back, and she wouldn’t have cared.
This was real. She was pregnant.
Not only was she pregnant—she was eight weeks pregnant. What she’d labeled as a little pineapple overload bloat in her belly turned out to be a little human living inside her for nearly two months. Her mind went to her trifecta, but they were of no help. Their fictional mouths hung open, none of them offering up even a lick of advice.
The doctor’s brow creased. “Who are Lizzy, Jane, and Hermione? And what are they supposed to lick?”
“Did I do it again?” she asked.
Jordan nodded with a bemused grin.
She had to stop this. Just because she was pregnant, it didn’t mean she had to lose her ever-lovin’ mind.
She snapped into librarian mode. “What happens now? Should I start taking prenatal vitamins? Should I refrain from horseback riding?”
“Georgie, when was the last time you rode a horse?” Jordan asked.
“Probably twenty years ago, but you never know when a horse could cross your path.”
It was a valid concern!
“And sex?” she asked.
“That’s a good question,” Jordan agreed.
“Yes, on those prenatal vitamins, hold off on the horses or any extreme sports, and yes to continued sexual activity. These pamphlets can guide you on pregnancy do’s and don’ts,” the doctor added as he plucked pastel booklet after pastel booklet and set them on the counter.
“Georgie, it’s real. We’re having a baby,” Jordan said with tears in his eyes.
Her mouth grew dry. Holy diaper pail! She was going to be a mother!
“Are you okay, babe?” her husband asked gently.
She stared at a smiling woman, cradling a baby on a petal-pink leaflet. Was she okay?
Was anyone okay when implanted with a human?
Was she supposed to feel like a mother now?
Would she be like her mother?
A shiver danced down her spine.
“It’s a lot to take in.”
“Like a gallon of pineapple juice?” her husband teased with a misty grin.
She wanted to laugh, but her thoughts morphed into a frenzied tornado of worry, excitement, and doubt, draining the humor right out of her.
How would they grow their brand, manage their businesses, and have a baby?
“Let’s take a look. The baby should have a heartbeat by now,” Dr. Beaver said, then patted the exam table.
In a zombie-state, she rose to her feet, settled herself on the exam table, and covered her bottom half with the papery towel as the doctor rolled over the portable ultrasound.
“This happens with me in here?” Jordan asked, looking in horror as she planted her heels in the stirrups.
“Absolutely,” the doctor answered, then removed the vaginal probe from the stand and beckoned him over with it.
“What in God’s name is that?” her husband exclaimed.
“A transducer. But I like to think of it as a magic wand,” Dr. Beaver said, wielding the device like a handsome gynecological wizard, to which Hermione gave a thumbs-up.
“Why a magic wand?” Jordan asked.
“Because this is how we get to see your baby.”
“Where’s the outside thing that goes on the stomach—like the ones they use on TV?” Jordan pressed.
“We’ll use that when Georgiana’s further along.”
Her husband eyed the transducer warily. “You’re going to put that wand inside my wife?”
Dr. Beaver flashed his TV doctor smile. “That’s where the magic happens!”
She reached out, and Jordan came to stand beside her and took her hand. She needed this whole wizard and wand talk to be over. Would she ever be able to reread the Harry Potter Series without thinking of that giant medical dildo?
Her husband’s features grew pensive as he observed the probe, then turned to her. “You should be good with that size wand. Especially after the honeymoon and all the—”
She gave his hand a sharp squeeze. “Jordan, everyone here knows we’ve done it. We don’t need to rehash the antics of our honeymoon.”
“Don’t you worry about me! Sex machines are my bread and butter,” the doctor chimed.
That’s certainly not something one would expect to hear from a doctor, but she was having that kind of day. She leaned onto the crinkly paper lining the exam table.
Dr. Beaver held up the probe, then busted open a condom and rolled it down the shaft.
“What the hell is that for?” Jordan exclaimed like a nun who accidentally sauntered into a whore house—or an ob-gyn exam room.
“It’s for your wife’s protection. This fellow’s been around,” Dr. Beaver added, glopping a dollop of lubricant on top of the device.
This wasn’t her idea of fun either, but he wasn’t the one about to have Mr. Been Around shoved where the sun don’t shine.
“Jordan, it’ll be all right, and it’s not like Dr. Beaver is about to stick that thing inside you.”
“Jesus! I should hope not!” He glanced down at her. “Sorry, babe, I thought I knew about pregnancy, but this is all blowing my mind.”
“Aren’t you a CrossFit trainer?” the obstetrician asked, wheeling himself between her legs on the little doctor stool.
“Yeah, and my degree is in kinesiology. I learned how to advise women on how to exercise safely during pregnancy, but they never whipped out a giant vagina magic wand when I was in college.”
“Looks like you missed out!” the doctor replied with a made-for-TV laugh.
Should she ask to see his credentials?
“Do you have children of your own, Dr. Beaver?” she asked instead.
“I do. A boy and a girl,” he answered, donning a headlamp and turning on the vagina illumination light.
Okay, he was a father. He could sympathize.
“Did your wife allow you to deliver them?”
Dr. Beaver folded back the paper towel cover-up. “No, my husband and I adopted our children.”
“Oh! I assumed…” she trailed off, feeling like an asshat.
“No worries! The only vaginas I see are the ones at work. And, Georgiana?”
“Yes?”
“Yours looks great,” he answered, from between her thighs.
Again, not something one would expect your baby doctor to throw out casually, but before she could think of how to possibly respond, a cold tap to her lady area said this magical baby-finding probe session was a go.
“Watch the screen. I’m going to look around, take some measurements, then snap a few pictures,” the doctor said, beginning the ultrasound.
“Does it hurt?” Jordan whispered.
She shook her head. “It’s just weird.”
“You’re telling me,” he said under his breath.
“You didn’t expect to watch a doctor stick a giant medical magic wand in your wife this morning?” she teased—which was a pretty big accomplishment in her situation. Humor, while being probed, did not come easy.
“That’s some cervix you’ve got there!” the doctor remarked.
“Um…thank you?” she answered. Dr. Rosenstein had never complimented her lady parts, and she wasn’t quite sure how to respo
nd.
“I’ve never seen Georgie’s cervix, but everything else down there is pretty great and up to code,” Jordan replied, then cringed. “Sorry, words are coming out of my mouth, but they seem to be bypassing my brain.”
She smiled up at him and squeezed his hand. At least, he was as nervous as she was. Between the magical probe and up to code vagina, today was going down as not only the day she learned she and Jordan would be parents, but the day she realized she didn’t have a clue about any of it. She stared at a framed picture hanging on the wall of a mother and baby in a state of maternal bliss.
That woman looked like she had it all under control.
Would she be able to do it?
“How about some music?” the doctor asked, cutting into her thoughts.
“Seems like a good time for some Michael Bolton,” Jordan answered, perking up. “I can pull it up on my phone.”
“That’s a great call,” she agreed.
There was nothing like his soothing voice and moving ballads. The man was a lyrical genius.
“Not that kind of music,” the doctor said with a chuckle, then pushed a button.
A quick whooshing sound engulfed the room.
“Techno?” Jordan asked the man, currently directing a probe in her lady parts.
“No, that would be your baby’s heartbeat.”
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.
Each punctuated splash of sound washed over her.
That was their baby—a real little person with a tiny baby heart.
Jordan crouched, so his head was even with hers, and wrapped his arm around her. They stared at the screen as the grainy image stilled, and a form came into focus.
“Is that alien peanut-looking thing our baby?” he asked.
“It sure is and measuring about the size of a blueberry. Everything looks great,” Dr. Beaver replied.
She stared at the alien peanut. Her alien peanut. Their alien peanut.
“Wow,” she whispered, emotion clogging her throat as pure joy—not the Joyce kind—the real thing, like opening your eyes on an extraterrestrial planet and experiencing an entirely new spectrum of color. An unexplored wonderland. A vast terrain of what-ifs. A million questions bubbling to the surface.
Jordan tightened his grip. “Wow, is right.”
“I’ll take a few pictures for you to put up on the fridge,” the doctor said, continuing the exam.
She nodded, but she wasn’t paying attention to the male model obstetrician between her thighs. This was a new chapter for them. As much as her life had changed in the past five months, finding Jordan, falling in love and getting married, it had been about the two of them. This chapter introduced a whole new plot twist—a plot twist with a little person, half her and half Jordan.
Dr. Beaver removed the probe, and she slid up to sit on the table.
“Oh my!” Dr. Beaver remarked.
Her gaze bounced from the probe to the ultrasound display to the doctor. “Is something wrong?”
“Babe, your gown is open, and you went with a fancy bra!” Jordan said, eyes wide.
She pulled the potato sack around her.
“We mostly see beige around here! Thanks for spicing up my day,” the doc added with a sparkling smile.
This appointment may go down as the most embarrassing day of her life, and perhaps, if she and Jordan could figure out this parenting business, also, as one of the best.
“Here you go,” the doctor said, handing Jordan the printed images. “Take your time and stop by the front desk before you leave. The receptionist will have a bag of pregnancy essentials along with the list of scheduled visits. Again, it’s such a pleasure meeting you both, and Georgiana?”
“Yes?” she answered, starting to think Dr. Beaver was a pretty great guy.
“You’ve got one of the top ten cervixes I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen a lot.”
Maybe great was too strong a word.
Dr. Beaver left the room, and she sank onto the exam table. She stared up at the ceiling, then startled when a warm sensation overtook her belly.
She glanced down and found her husband caressing her abdomen.
“Georgie Jensen-Marks has a perfect ten cervix,” he said with a cocky twist to his lips.
“Stop it,” she said, but there was no bite to her words. It was pretty funny.
“And my super sperm put a baby inside you,” he added.
“How do you know it wasn’t my super egg that gobbled up your sperm?” she countered, unleashing a smirk of her own.
He chuckled as his devilish grin faded. “I love you, messy knocked-up bun girl.”
That sure didn’t roll off the tongue, but she didn’t care.
She slid her hand on top of his. “I guess if you have to gestate a baby, a little Asshattery heir is the way to go.”
“And nice call on the lingerie. I think it earned us some points with the doctor. You know, it’s like wearing your Sunday best, except the underwear version.”
She shook her head and released a long sigh.
“We’ll figure this out. We will,” Jordan said, staring into her eyes.
She observed this man as a pregnant pause, pun intended, allowed them to take in the moment.
“I really thought you were an asshat when we first met,” she said, stroking his cheek just below his toddler battle scar, then noticed the little mark next to it that had to be from when she pegged him with the pregnancy test box.
What a day!
“And you know how much I hated your Birkenstock sandals,” he replied, but his expression said the opposite.
She brushed her thumb across his baby combat injuries. “That seems like ages ago, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” he answered, staring down at her belly.
What was their next step? Did they tell people about the pregnancy? Should they keep it to themselves? And God help her, what would she do about her mother? Her mind was about to start a new spin cycle when their phones chimed the appointment alert for their meeting with Hector and Bobby.
“How are we going to play this with CityBeat?” he asked.
She blew out a tight breath. “I have no idea.”
The one thing she did know was that they needed to come up with a strategy—and fast.
4
Jordan
Jordan glanced at his watch, then listened as his wife hummed her delight.
“We’ve got a little over twenty minutes before we should leave to make it to CityBeat on time,” he cautioned, but it was no use.
She’d fallen in love.
“I’ll be finished way before then. I promise. I just want to savor each bite,” Georgie answered through her third slice of pineapple cheesecake.
This eating for two was no joke!
After the appointment with Dr. Beaver, which, holy hell, was quite a name for an obstetrician, they needed some time to decompress and regroup before heading over to meet with Bobby and Hector. He’d searched the internet for a place with pineapple desserts and found this coffee shop a block away from the CityBeat building.
And bingo! He was the baby daddy of the year. Okay, more like the baby daddy of the quarter-hour, but he’d take it.
It almost didn’t seem real that their child—an actual living creature—was due in June! Freaking June! He was a number’s guy. And he couldn’t help but calculate that by this time next year, they’d have an almost five-month-old baby!
He’d been thrown for a loop in the waiting room from hell. But the moment their alien peanut baby, who was probably ninety percent pineapple at this point, materialized through the fuzzy gray and black lines on the ultrasound, he forgot about the baby NFL and the fact that they should have gotten this kid on a wait-list to play cello, viola, or harpsichord before he and Georgie had even met.
He was going to be a father. He didn’t think his heart could hold any more love than he had for his wife, but when that alien peanut appeared, he was done for. A goner. Like the Grinch, his heart expanded in hi
s chest.
A boy or a girl, it didn’t matter to him.
What did matter was giving this baby everything.
Unfortunately, he didn’t know where the hell to start. He should have asked those dads to give him the number for the baby NFL.
“Did you babysit growing up?” he asked as his wife enjoyed the final bite of cheesecake.
He wanted her in a state of complete pineapple bliss. After what she’d endured with that insane magic probe, he’d need to get this place on speed-dial to ensure they always had plenty of the pineapple deliciousness on hand.
He knew Georgie had fallen in love with the baby the minute its little alien form came to life on the screen—just like he had. It was as if a tidal wave of emotion overtook the exam room and washed over them. But that didn’t mean their concerns about what life would look like now had vanished. He wasn’t sure how they would balance this pregnancy with all their commitments. Luckily, between her second and third slice of cheesecake, he’d gotten an idea.
They’d approach this pregnancy scientifically. And that required a baseline. When he worked with clients, it was his job to assess their current fitness level and work from that point. He and Georgie needed a pregnancy knowledge baseline. Only then could they measure the impact that impending parenthood would have on their lives.
While she oohed and aahed through her dessert, he’d gone over his actual knowledge of what to do with an infant, which wasn’t much.
A decade ago, when he’d met his former fitness mentor, Deacon Perry, his daughters were babies. He’d held them and watched as Deacon’s now ex-wife and his father’s current girlfriend, Maureen, cared for the twin girls. But he didn’t pay all that much attention to the day-to-day how-to-keep-your-baby-alive routine.
These actions happened. They had to have—the girls were still living, thriving eleven-year-olds. But he didn’t know the logistics and mechanics of how this keeping-baby-alive process worked.
Georgie set down her fork and glanced over at the pastry display. “It looks like I got the last slice of pineapple cheesecake.”
She’d inhaled the last three slices, but he was a smart enough husband to not mention that part.
She took a sip of pineapple juice. “To answer your question, no, I never babysat growing up. I was too busy being dragged from pageant to pageant. What about you?”
Own the Eights Maybe Baby Page 5
