by M. E. Carter
I look at him, confused. “You do realize children almost never look at their ultrasound pictures. They might find them long after we’re dead.”
He huffs. “Okay fine. I want my last name on the ultrasound pictures for me.”
I roll my eyes, amused he’s making such a big deal about this. And grateful as well. I know when this baby is finally born, I will love him or her with my whole self, but right now there seems to be a disconnect between my emotions and this pregnancy. I’m so appreciative Ace can’t contain his joy. It makes up for my lack of it. I guess that’s what a partnership really is.
The receptionist giggles, finding this whole interaction cute. “Tell you what. Fill this out real fast, and I’ll make it a priority to get it done before you get in with the doctor. How does that sound?” She hands Ace a clipboard with paperwork on it and his eyes light up as he takes it from her.
“Yeah, that sounds great.”
It doesn’t take long for him to fill out his paperwork, for me to fill out my own paperwork, and for us to get called to the back. We go through the regular rigmarole of taking my weight, my vitals, and a urine analysis. It’s all very fascinating stuff I’ve done dozens of times before over the course of two other pregnancies, and Ace seems delighted to be in the middle of it all.
Well, not the peeing in the cup part. I drew the line at him being in the restroom with me.
Surprisingly, my doctor, Dr. Haam, who I’ve seen once for a well-woman visit last year, is not only running on time, she’s quite possibly running a bit early as well.
“Hi Greer,” she says with a smile on her face, her spectacles perched on the end of her nose. She immediately heads to the sink and begins washing her hands. “How are we feeling today?”
“I am feeling very bloated and old. He”—I point at Ace—“is feeling very excited and anxious to make sure his last name is on the ultrasound.”
Dr. Haam laughs and grabs the paper towels from the dispenser. “I’ve already been informed and we have that taken care of.” Taking a seat on her rolling chair, she grabs my file off the counter and opens it. “Greer, I know you’ve had two other pregnancies, both where normal until delivery, and with one there were complications, is that right?”
And here we go. I know these are standard questions, but I can’t help the feeling of dread that washes over me. I don’t want her to go there today. I can’t do it and stay happy for Ace’s sake. So, I opt to keep things simple and straight forward.
“Yes. He had a double cord wrapped around his neck. I had an emergency c-section.”
She writes something down on my chart, never looking up while she continues with the inquiry. “And did he have any long-term effects that can be linked back to that delivery?”
My heart begins to beat wildly. Stay calm, Greer. These are normal questions.
“Not at first. He met all his milestones until around six or seven. That’s when he stopped progressing at such a rapid rate. He’s still about nine in his head and has a myriad of issues like impulse control and defiance. Most of it seems to indicate brain damage due to oxygen deprivation.”
She nods but doesn’t say anything. Just continues to scratch on my file with her pen. It’s making me nervous. Not only do I have a huge red sticker announcing I’m practically elderly, but if she keeps writing, I’m going to have the thickest file in the office too.
“Grayson”—she still doesn’t look up—“it says your brother was born with Down Syndrome, correct?”
“That’s right.”
I concentrate really hard on my breathing because I know where the conversation is going, and I don’t like it.
Dr. Haam puts her pen down and looks at Ace. “Have you ever been tested for any genetic abnormalities.”
His face pales as he shakes his head. “No. Should I have been?”
“Not necessarily. Down Syndrome is almost never hereditary, but in rare cases it can have a genetic component. At this point, it’s not necessary to get you tested, but if you decide to have any more children in the future, it may be worth taking a look. Just to make sure you don’t happen to carry the balanced translocation gene.”
Before she can even explain what all that means, I snort a laugh. “Oh no. There will be no other children after this. This one right here”—I point at my ever growing belly—“has been surprise enough.”
She smiles kindly and stands up, dropping the file on the counter again and guiding me to lie back. “Well, we can definitely discuss birth control options as soon as this one is born. But in the meantime, I’m going to schedule some blood drawn, and I’d like for you to have an amniocentesis.” Dr. Haam begins feeling around on my stomach, like tossing out the idea of genetic abnormalities in your child is everyday conversation. I suppose it is for her, but for me, for us, it’s much more life-altering.
“Why does she need to get the amnio?” Ace asks. I’m almost positive he already knows the answer and wants confirmation of what Dr. Haam is concerned about.
After helping me sit up, she crosses her arms and explains, “With Greer’s age, the chance of genetic abnormalities increases. Granted, you will only be forty when this baby is born, but there is still a higher probability. Combine that with the possibility you could carry a hereditary gene, and I think it would be wise to check.”
Ace runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. What was supposed to be an exciting day of seeing our baby for the first time has turned into a somber moment. He looks at me, concern all over his face.
“Babe, I don’t want you to have an amnio.”
I don’t like the idea of a giant needle plunging into my uterus either, but I don’t think that’s his cause for hesitation. “Why?”
“There’s too much risk. I know there’s not too much chance of a miscarriage, but if you’re already considered high-risk, why take the chance?”
I crinkle my eyes at him. “How do you know that?”
He flashes me a sheepish look. “I’ve been doing research.”
Of course he has been. I’m actually surprised no pregnancy books have magically shown up on our nightstand yet.
“An amnio will tell us if there is anything medically wrong with the baby,” Dr Haam explains. “It gives you a chance to weigh your options.”
Ace never takes his eyes off of me, despite Dr. Haam’s encouragement to go ahead with the procedure. “If something’s wrong with the baby, it won’t make a difference to me. Will it make a difference to you?” he asks me.
I recognize this is a pivotal moment for us. One that could possibly determine our future. And as much as I hate myself for it, I have to pause and think about my answer. Will it make a difference to me? Not in the sense that it will change my mind about going through with this pregnancy. That is already a done deal in my mind. The real question is, do I want to know the answers to these medical questions yet? Am I emotionally ready to handle them?
I take a deep breath and look up at the ceiling, unwilling to look anyone in the eye as I speak. “I don’t think it makes a difference. If something is wrong with this baby, between you and me, we probably already know where the resources are. I’m not worried about that. And I just… I don’t want to know yet. I’m having a hard enough time wrapping my brain around all this anyway. I just can’t.”
A tear runs down my cheek. No surprise there. I cry over everything these days. I hate that the room is still silent. That no one is speaking.
And then I feel it. I feel my husband reach over and grab my hand, squeezing tightly. Right now, I know he gets it. He understands where my head is at and all my fears. He understands that as much as I love my son, no one wishes for their child to have disabilities or limitations. We love them through it, but we don’t hope for it.
I blink back the rest of the moisture and turn my head to look at him.
“We’re going to do this together. No matter what,” he says quietly and kisses me on the forehead gently, fingers running through my hair.
Dr. Haam finally moves, pulling the ultrasound machine closer. “Well then it’s settled. We’ll skip the amnio and just do the blood test. If you change your mind, it’s as easy as getting with our scheduling department. In the meantime, you guys want to see your baby for the first time?”
“Oh yeah,” Ace responds, his smile reappearing. I force a similar expression on my face, so she won’t know how very anxious I am.
I really am interested and excited to see my baby. That’s one of the best parts of pregnancy. But now, with one little conversation, once again, I’m not as excited as I should be.
~ ~ ~
The ride home is quiet. For the most part, I stare out the window, clutching the ultrasound pictures in my hand.
After fifteen weeks of pregnancy, it finally feels real. This is really happening. It’s not just a dream. No alternate reality. It’s real. I have the pictures of a little head and a button nose and some little hands to prove it.
Blowing out a breath, I will myself to be happy. For Ace. For our family. But I just… can’t. I’m not as unhappy anymore. More of an acceptance. But the biggest emotion I still have is that damn fear.
Even when I think about the possibility of having a perfectly healthy, “normal” child, I’m terrified. I already feel like I’m drowning half the time under the weight of my responsibilities. A healthy newborn means recovery time, sleep deprivation, losing the ability to use my arms that are always full of baby, no time to work, no time to eat, no time to shower…
The list of things that will have to be done is endless. I don’t know how I’ll be able to do this.
“You okay?”
I look over at Ace who keeps turning to glance at me while navigating through traffic.
Giving him a half-hearted smile, I say what he needs to hear. “I’m okay. Just nervous.”
It’s way more than nervous, but I don’t want to admit that. He’s so excited about us having this baby. The last thing I want to do is put a damper on it.
“You don’t have to hide how scared you are from me.”
Maybe I’m not as good at hiding my feelings as I thought.
Wiping away another tear I didn’t know was coming until my husband proved once again how much we’re in this together, I take a deep breath. “I’m trying to not be.”
“I know. I also know we have more odds stacked against us than most pregnant couples. But I promise you, Greer. You won’t be on your own, no matter what.”
“I’m sorry, Ace.” The guilt overwhelms me and a stray tear escapes. I didn’t even know there were any threatening to fall. “I’m trying hard to be excited. I want to look forward to this but I just…”
“You’re just stretched really thin.” My man is so understanding. “I get it, Greer. I do. You’ve been a single mom for all of these years and this is one more thing added to your plate. This is the big reason I’m ready for us to move to the farm. I don’t think you can wrap your brain around how much support you’re going to have once we get there. Yes, I know it’s isolated, but babe, I come home every day for breakfast. I come home every day for lunch. I come home every day for dinner. I’m right there if you need to come out to the barn to vent and yell or just get a hug.”
“I’m not hugging you when you smell like cow pies,” I joke, making him smile at me.
“Noted. But you know the other day Brittany had been up all night long with the baby, so Pedro put him in that backpack carrier thingy, made sure Nio had a floppy hat on his head, and carried him around while doing his basic chores.”
I sniff and look at him wide-eyed. “He did?”
“Yeah. I mean, he was probably using it as an excuse to not do all the heavy lifting, but it worked. Brittany got the rest she needed, Pedro got some bonding time with his son, and honestly, it was kind of fun knowing the next generation was already out there learning how to do chores.”
I can’t help but giggle while I bat away that tear. “You really think it’s going to help when we get out there?”
“One hundred percent, babe. Just having Oli outside, wearing himself out is going take a weight off your shoulders.”
He pulls into the driveway of the house I was proud of, yet somehow, I’m looking at it differently now. It seems almost claustrophobic.
Maybe he’s right. I know the transition is going to be hard, and we absolutely must wait until the school year is over. But maybe being on the same property as so many people who are emotionally invested in our lives is going to take some of the pressure off.
“I need to get back to work.” He grabs my hand and kisses my knuckles. “I’m going to try to leave early tonight. No guarantees.”
“No! No. The farm is your business. I know Phillip and Pedro have taken up a lot of the slack, but you can’t leave them in a lurch because I’m emotional.”
He chuckles softly, my fingers still brushing his lips. “Yes, I can. And I will if I feel like it. It’s the only perk of being the boss. But I do need to check in at least.”
“I’ll be okay, Ace. I promise. And I’m glad you went with me today.”
“I will always go with you.” He holds my gaze and suddenly snatches one of the ultrasound pictures out of my hand. “Especially if it means I can get more of these.”
“Hey!”
“You think I’m not going to take my baby’s first pictures out with me and show them to everyone? Especially Pedro. I’m going to show him every. Single. Day. Until he is sick of me talking about it.”
A laugh bursts out of me. “This is some sort of payback for something he did, isn’t it?”
“You damn well better believe it. I couldn’t get away from his pregnancy talk. He’s going to hear about every ultrasound, every middle of the night craving, all the pregnancy gas…”
“Ohmygod you will not tell him about my pregnancy gas!” I shriek with laughter. “That’s it. I’m outta here.”
“You know it’s true!” he calls after me as I climb out of the cab and drop as gracefully as I can to the ground. “He wouldn’t have to take it if he didn’t dish it out!”
“See ya later, cowboy!” I slam the door and wave as I walk to the door.
He revs the engine behind me. Probably as some show of masculine testosterone or something.
When I walk into the house, the last thing I expect to see is Julie lounging on the couch.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in school?” I ask as I toss my purse onto my desk.
“It was a half day, remember?”
“Oh shit,” I mumble under my breath because I don’t remember much of anything these days. Damn pregnancy brain. “I completely forgot. Is your brother back yet?”
“No. It’s his day at the farm.”
My eyes shoot up as an idea crosses my mind. Ace says being on the farm will help relieve some of my stress. Today seems like a good day to test that out. I shoot out a quick text to my husband.
Me: It’s a half day at school. If I call Mrs. Johnson, can Oli stay with you for the rest of the day and you bring him home after dinner?
His response is quick.
Ace: Absolutely. Between me and Pedro we can keep him entertained.
Me: Thank you. I love you. And quit texting while driving.
Ace: It’s voice to text, Greer.
Me: Liar. If it was voice to text, my name wouldn’t be spelled right.
Before I can put my phone down, it dings with an email. Opening it, I see it’s from the school.
“Shit,” I say under my breath. I have certainly upped the potty mouth talk since my hormones started fluctuating. However, I’m right to be ticked off. Julie is now officially failing two classes.
“Uh, Julie?”
She doesn’t even look up from the TV where she’s watching some random movie targeted to teens. If I was a better mom, I would be making sure it’s appropriate. Just another thing to feel guilty about these days.
“Uh huh.”
“You wanna tell me why you’re failing two classes?”
/>
“I don’t know.” She still doesn’t look at me.
“Well I’m about to find out, so I hope you can come up with a reasonable excuse quick. Like you were hospitalized or had amnesia and forgot all your test answers.”
She doesn’t bother responding while I click on the link taking me to her grades. As I scroll, I feel myself getting angrier and angrier the more I see.
Slamming my phone on the desk, I stalk into the living room, grab the remote, and turn it off. She looks at me like I’m the one who’s lost her marbles, which makes me even more upset.
“You are failing two classes,” I grit out, my mom voice coming out full force.
“But I did good on my tests.”
“Oh you did fine on your tests, child. But you still have not turned in your homework.” I can feel my nostrils flaring, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there is fire coming out of my eyes. Julie has always been my studious kid. She’s always liked learning. And now suddenly she’s going to fail high school out of laziness? Unacceptable.
“But I did, Mom,” she argues.
“No. You didn’t.”
“They probably lost my homework,” she justifies, refusing to take responsibility for her actions. What the hell is happening here?
“Really? Every time? You’re telling me more than one teacher has lost all your homework?”
She looks at me like I’m stupid and says, “Yes.”
“I. Call. Bullshit. Hand me your phone.” I hold out my hand and flick my fingers, just in case she doesn’t know where to put it.
She shoots up off the couch, shrieking. “What? Why do you need my phone?”
“Because you’re grounded from it.”
Julie crosses her arms and it feels like my body is vibrating from the sheer willpower it’s taking not to launch myself at her to shake some sense into her. “Uh, how do you expect me to reach you when I’m in school?” she pops off.
I cross my arms back. “You don’t need to be communicating with me when you’re in school. You are there to learn, remember? Until further notice, you are grounded from your phone. You are grounded from the television. And if you’re not careful and keep sassing me, you’ll be grounded from your books too.”
