by Renee Dyer
I feel like an asshole because my worry caused her to make an appointment with her OBGYN. Now I’m sitting in the exam room with her while Dr. Bastine has his fingers in places no man should be touching my wife. I know they say they’re doing their job, but show me a man who doesn’t enjoy staring at or touching a vagina, and I’ll tell you he’s lying. Even my gay brother-in-law is fascinated by them. And tits. He once told me, although he doesn’t prefer them, the female body is a work of art. Best conversation we’ve ever had.
Fortunately for Dr. Fingers, Brenna looks miserable through the entire exam. It was kind of funny when the duck looking thing was used. I’m sure she would disagree. I wonder what she would say if I asked her to get one for our house. Thoughts of playing doctor run through my mind, keeping me occupied while the exam finishes and he asks her some questions I wouldn’t know the answers to. Her body—her answers.
At the end, he explains that he feels she may need a jump start in her hormones. I want to ask exactly what he means by hormones. Does that mean she’ll be getting bitchy? But he goes on to explain the medicine he wants to put her on will actually stimulate ovulation and get an egg or multiple eggs to release from the ovary. I almost pass out at the mention of multiple eggs. I know there’s always the chance of twins, but with this medication, that chance increases.
“What medicine will you be putting her on?” I ask, needing a second to process.
“Clomid. If you have any questions about it, I can answer them any time.”
“Clomid?” Brenna laughs. “Why would they name it so close to chlamydia? Geesh.”
I bust out laughing, unable to contain myself. I really can’t take her anywhere.
“I hear that a lot,” Dr. Bastine says, unsuccessfully trying to keep his calm.
We finish our appointment with him and head to pick Brady up from Helen. She took the day off from work to spend time with our little guy. I know it bothers her that her schedule can be so hectic.
“Chlamydia, Bren? Really?”
“Sorry. It was the first thing that popped in my mind,” she answers sheepishly.
“Don’t get shy now. You just yelled out sexually transmitted disease names in the doctor’s office. We all know you are far from shy.”
“I’m very shy. What are you talking about?”
I almost spit, I guffaw so loudly. This woman has no idea how adorable she is. Or how sexy I find her humor. If we didn’t need to pick Brady up, I’d find a deserted road and say fuck the medicine, let’s get to the baby making right now. Who needs chlamydia sounding medicine? That takes all the fun out of trying.
Chapter Twenty Two
Brenna
“Do men ache like this?”
Nick’s eyebrows raise, but he doesn’t say a word. He continues to play whatever video game has grabbed his attention this time. The loud shooting sounds coming from the TV are making me want to rip my hair out. I need sex all the time since Dr. Bastine put me on this medicine. You would think Nick understands. He’s a guy. But here he sits, pressing the buttons on his stupid controller, with a stupid smirk on his face as he kills another stupid guy on the stupid game.
Annoyed that he’s ignoring me, I rip off my top and walk in front of the television. I don’t care that the shade is up and the neighbors can see me standing there in my bra. I need to get laid and my husband is acting like a jackass.
“What the hell? I was almost done with that level.”
Oh no, he didn’t. I’m sure there’s a bit of evil in the look I give him because I can feel my face tighten.
“Is there something I can help you with?” he asks, a hint of humor breaking through his tone.
“Ya think?” I answer, irritated. If I weren’t so horny, I would jump across the room and show him what happens when you piss off a cat that’s been left out in the rain all day. Instead, I remain still and wait for him to come to his senses.
“Come on, babe. You have to see the irony in this situation.”
Men really are fucking stupid. And there’s that word again. Maybe being reduced to acting like a man has given me their vocabulary.
“Seriously, Bren. You’re not going to speak to me?”
Now, he’s whining. Please tell me I don’t act like this. If I do, I need to kick my own ass. Whatever. I can’t deal with him thinking video games are more important than us trying for a baby. All his talk about us running to something great—looks like he’s running out of steam. I’m going to bed.
Frustrated with him and this non-stop need to jump his bones, I reach over my shoulder and turn the TV off. I don’t respond to his, “Hey!” as I storm past him. Somewhere in my mind, I know I’m acting like an irrational bitch, but my hormones are so out of whack. I’ve never thought about or wanted sex like this. At lunch earlier, I was making Brady a fluffernutter and all I could think about was how long the butter knife was. It was so wrong. Still, I started counting down the minutes until his bed time.
Look where that got me.
Pent up aggression and a husband who may be sleeping on the couch.
“What is going on with you?”
“What is going on with me?” I repeat back at him. “Hmm, let’s see. I can’t stop thinking about sex. It’s like someone hit repeat in my brain and the only word on the disc is sex. It’s just echoing around in there. There’s an ache that hasn’t gone away since that damn medicine kicked in. You promised to take care of it, but all you want to do is play your stupid games. And I can’t fucking stop saying stupid.”
“When did you say stupid?”
“Never mind. We agreed to do this baby thing. It led to the medicine and now, I’m a horned up mess, so guess what?” He stares at me with that stupid smirk on his face. “You will take one for the team. Now, take your damn pants off.”
“Whoa. You can’t just treat me like a piece of meat.”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now, Nick?” If he doesn’t get naked soon, I might spontaneously combust.
“Let’s talk.”
“Talk? Did you not hear what I just said? It literally hurts.”
“Welcome to my world.”
“Is that what this is about?” I ask. “Payback for all the times I’ve said no?”
He stands there, staring at me while I try to think about whether he would truly withhold sex so I can see things from his side. He’s never been overtly cruel to me before, but this is sex we’re talking about, and men see it differently than women. Why can’t he just take care of this ache? It sucks.
“Is that what you think, Bren?”
“I can’t think. I’m too horny. And don’t laugh at me. Nothing about this is funny.”
“It’s a little funny,” he says, holding his fingers up, in a “just a little” gesture.
I can’t take the stare down between us any longer. He’s too amused by my obvious discomfort. I finish undressing and lay down, not caring that I haven’t done my nightly routine. I’m tired, and cranky, and my horny brain has had enough of talking to him. The sheets rub against my skin, causing a friction that’s almost too much to bear, and the comforter is a disappointment. It’s nowhere near enough weight bearing down on my body. A loud grumble falls from my lips.
“Problem, babe?”
“You know what, Nick? Now you’re just being an asshole. If you’re not going to take care of me then go back downstairs to your stupid games so I can try to fall asleep. I’ve had enough of your teasing.”
Tears well in my eyes and I hate how worked up I am. Sex shouldn’t make me this emotional. But there’s a pain in my core that won’t stop. I just want it to go away. He keeps laughing at me, and I don’t find anything about this funny.
The bed dips behind me and I try to hide how upset I am. I swipe my eyes and then burrow my face into my pillow. I’m done for the night.
“I’m sorry you think I was teasing you, Bren. I never said I wouldn’t take care of you. I just wanted you to see that when you say no and sometimes I keep pushi
ng for a little bit, it’s not because I don’t respect you or don’t listen. It’s because that ache never goes away for me. I want you every second of every day.”
We don’t need any more words. A silent understanding passes between us as I turn in his arms. He takes care of my ache, and I take care of his.
Chapter Twenty Three
Nick
The day I found out Brenna was pregnant, I wanted to scream it to the world. I didn’t, of course. Where she had a difficult pregnancy with Brady, we wanted to wait until she got through the first trimester before sharing our news. Our parents knew we were trying, so it was a little tricky to keep it hidden. It didn’t help that Brenna’s belly started to pop early. At six weeks, she already had a ponch, as she called it. It made her crazy because she said it just looked like she was gaining weight, not like she was having a baby.
She did have to tell her boss. Unfortunately, she had hyperemesis gravidarum, extreme morning sickness, just like with Brady. How any one person can vomit that much, and still be alive, is a mystery to me. Dr. Bastine was quick to get her on Zofran—some days it helped, other days, she kept nothing in her stomach. There were a few trips to the hospital for dehydration treatments. Not as many as she had during the pregnancy with Brady, though. And we were grateful for that. Overall, she said she was feeling better than the first time around. She had more energy and a better appetite. She loved that she was able to work and wasn’t spending the pregnancy on bed rest.
The guys at her job were pretty friggin’ awesome, too. They looked out for her like it was their child on the way. They made sure she was drinking enough and snacking between breakfast and lunch. They took turns when they’d stop in or call the office to see how she was feeling. Although the economy had taken a nosedive and business hadn’t been great for them, they all treated each other well. They didn’t bicker, even when a few guys had to be let go. They kept in touch with those whose jobs were lost. It was more like a family than a business and I was glad Brenna had them each day.
She stressed that she may lose her job and the holidays were right around the corner. I kept telling her we would deal with whatever came our way. Every time she would get worked up, I would try to remind her that stress was bad for the baby. Telling a woman to calm down is like telling children to pick their favorite candy while in the middle of a candy store. It’s not going to happen.
Brenna came up with the best way to tell our families about our new addition. She always was the creative one. She ordered Brady a t-shirt with a Christmas present on it. On the front of the present, a large tag hung that said: To my big brother. She also handmade cards for everyone and put a scanned picture of the first ultrasound in them. She was only seven weeks along when the ultrasound was performed. The baby looked like a bean. Literally, a tiny bean, but we were able to hear the heartbeat over the monitor. It took my breath away. I didn’t know whether we were having a boy or a girl, but I knew I loved that child with everything I had.
Family members gushed over Brady’s shirt. Everyone asked him if he was excited to be a big brother. Being the typical three-year-old, he said, “Yep, but I’m not sharing my toys. I bought the baby a teddy bear.” And he did. Brenna took him out to buy a special present that they wrapped and stuck under the tree. He couldn’t wait to show me that he helped wrap it, but I would have known looking at it. It looked like a ball of paper with tape all around it and there were more bows on that bear than paper, but it made him happy. That’s what matters.
Both of our jobs are shut down this week until after New Year’s. It should be giving us some much needed time to relax, but Brenna has been up every morning with Brady even though I’ve told her to sleep in. She said the morning sickness won’t let her. If she doesn’t nibble on something small early enough, she’ll be vomiting all day. I’m hoping this passes soon. Dr. Bastine said in a few weeks, she should start to feel better, but she never felt better with Brady. She was only able to work for five weeks during that pregnancy, and she was miserable. I think her co-workers would have preferred she didn’t come back with how much time she spent in the ladies room getting sick.
I’m actually shocked she ever wanted to get pregnant again.
I’m not a woman. I don’t know what it feels like when the baby moves. I can’t experience the first kick or the flutters I often hear Brenna and her friends talk about. But I have to wonder if women think it’s worth it when they go through hell to bring a child into the world. Do they forget everything that went wrong up to seeing that little face? It all seemed to melt away when Brenna saw Brady, but when he acts up, does she think of the months of being sick? Does she remember all the bedrest?
Women can hold grudges. I’ve seen it. How many take it out on their kids?
Thoughts like this always make me love Brenna more. She’s the best mother I could have ever picked for my kids. Even now, being back at work, she still makes time to teach Brady. He loves to learn. Her brother Jeremy runs a daycare and he copies off worksheets for her. Just about every night, she sits down and they do a sheet or two together. On the weekends, they have arts and crafts time. Our Christmas tree is covered in hand and footprint ornaments she created with him. It’s the best looking tree I’ve ever seen.
He’s lucky to have her. We all are. Our new child is going to be blessed to have the best mom in the world.
I finish folding the laundry and go check on her and Brady. They had been playing in his room earlier, and I told her to take it easy while I handle the housework. Climbing the stairs, silence greets me. I wonder what game they’re playing. I get on my hands and knees, trying to be as stealthy as I can. What I see when I get to Brady’s door makes me smile. Love for my wife grows stronger than I ever thought it could.
She and Brady are cuddled together on his Thomas the Train toddler bed. Brady is snuggled into her, his hand on her belly. Brenna’s chin is resting on his head, her arm around him, a book falling from her hand as they both lay there sleeping. I step back from the room and quietly go back down the stairs for the camera. Some moments are too precious to miss. After snapping a few shots, I bring the camera to our room and go back to get Brenna. I don’t want her to be cramped up later. I grab the book and place it on the floor. Bending down, I gently shift Brady’s hand from her belly and lift Brenna into my arms. She tilts into me, starting to stir.
“Shh, Bren,” I whisper, “let’s get you to bed.”
I walk her to our room and lay her down. She instantly settles into the pillow and falls back to sleep. Her belly is partially showing and I’m overwhelmed by the thought that in half a year, another little person is going to need me. Before I cover her up, I take a second to bond with this miracle that will soon call me dad.
“Hey, Little One.” I keep my voice low and my lips close to Brenna’s stomach so I don’t wake her. “I’m your dad. I know you can’t see me, but Mommy says you can hear me. Do me a favor, okay? Stop beating Mommy up. It’s no fun seeing her sick. Or tired. If you have anything to do with that, can you be nice? I’d appreciate it, Little One.”
What am I doing? I can’t believe I’m lecturing a bean. This isn’t how I should be talking to my baby. If Brenna was listening, she’d cuff me upside the head.
“Can I start over? I can’t wait to see you. I hope you have your mom’s eyes. Everyone thinks they’re brown. That’s because they look that way from a distance, but when you’re lucky enough to get close to her, to really look at them, you see their true color. They’re tricky. Do you want to know why? I can tell you how she fools everyone. There’s a brown ring around her pupils. That, my little one, is the black circle in the middle of your eye. Your mom isn’t the only one who can teach you kids things. That ring is what makes her eyes look brown until you get close. The rest of her color is just…wow. How do you explain a color that hasn’t been named? I guess it’s hazel. That’s what other people would call it. It’s dark green with flecks of gold and gray mixed in. It’s always changing. When she’s happy
, they light up and make me feel like anything in the world is possible. But when she’s sad, I feel like my world just imploded. Your mom’s eyes control me.”
“What are my eyes saying now?”
“Bren,” I pop up from her stomach to see her smiling down at me. “I’m sorry to wake you. I was trying to be quiet.”
“I asked you a question, Nick.”
“What?”
“What are my eyes saying now?”
“Um, you need sleep because your husband is an inconsiderate ass who doesn’t know when to be quiet?”
She shakes her head and reaches her hand out to run her fingers through my hair. Her light laugh fills the air. “They say I love you.”
“Yeah, I should have seen that,” I joke, leaning back down to kiss her belly. “See that, Little One? Your mommy loves me. I’m a lucky guy.”
“Not half as lucky as I am to have you.”
I crawl into bed next to her and pull the covers over us. “You need sleep, Bren.” She hums in agreement and presses her body into mine. My arm instinctively wraps around her and, together, we lay in silence. Her breathing evens and I lay there while she sleeps, my hand resting on the small hump where my bean is growing into my baby girl or boy. I can’t stop myself from imagining what my child will look like. What kind of personality he or she will have. The more I envision, the harder I fall in love, and the more I will my warmth to pass from my hand through Brenna’s belly.
I hope Little One knows I’m here.
Chapter Twenty Four
Brenna
A few times during this pregnancy, I’ve been scared my Chiari symptoms were coming back. I’d randomly get dizzy and have to grab for something in fear I’d fall. The spells would pass quickly and I’d feel okay after that. I made appointments with Dr. Bastine and Wendell. Both appointments, they had the other on conference. They agreed it was more likely because I wasn’t keeping enough nutrients in my system due to the extreme morning sickness. I had been doing my best to keep ginger candies with me. It helped with the nausea so I could drink fluids more often and snack without wanting to run to the bathroom every time I put food in my mouth. I stopped putting any spices in my food even though I missed the smells that came with cooking. Nick and Brady had to season food to their liking while I would salivate over how good it looked.
