by LS Sygnet
“Honestly, I haven’t had enough energy to do a whole lot lately.”
“Is it normal for her to be this tired?” Johnny asked. “Helen is usually a very high energy person. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her sleep so much in all the time I’ve known her.”
“With a single pregnancy, the requirement for sleep increases. With multiples, it increases even more. Just like the hormones. Just like the morning sickness. How’s that been in the past couple of weeks?”
“A little better,” I said. “Worse some days than others, and I still notice it more after any time that I wake, not just in the morning.”
“Keep the soda crackers handy. If you’re having trouble keeping food down all the time, I want you to call the office right away. There are a few things we can give you to help minimize the effect.”
“I’ve read that most drugs aren’t safe for pregnant women. I’d really rather not do anything that puts the babies at risk.” My hand fluttered over my abdomen. “Aren’t there natural remedies we could try instead?”
“Keep munching the soda crackers,” she chuckled. “They’re your best bet. Let’s wait and see what your weight looks like in two weeks. I understand we’re performing another ultrasound today?” Harvey flipped the page in my chart. “And Joan says you’re enthusiastic about the 3-D ultrasound for a better look at gender, yes?”
“Is it too soon to tell?” Johnny asked.
“I can see how eager you are for answers. Did I talk to you about amniocentesis?”
Uncertainty filled me. Between my last visit and this one, I discovered that I truly know nothing about my genetic medical history.
Johnny piped up. “There are no birth defects on either side of the family. Helen comes from probably the heartiest stock I know, next to mine.”
“Good,” she nodded. “All right then. If you don’t have any other questions, Joan is waiting for you down the hall in the ultrasound room. We’ll see you in two weeks, sooner if you have concerns or something comes up. Okay Helen?”
“Thank you doctor.” I sat up on the edge of the exam table and fumbled to close the back of the paper gown I wore.
“I’ll get your clothes,” Johnny said.
In the space of fifteen minutes, all of the animosity evaporated. I missed it. Somehow anger filled the gaping hole in my heart that hurt too much to acknowledge.
Joan was in the process of situating me on the ultrasound table when Johnny came in the room. She draped my legs and bared a small segment of abdomen.
“Oh my!” she exclaimed. “There they are!”
I heard Johnny gasp softly and resisted the urge to look at him. The cat, as they say, was out of the bag.
“Are you feeling any movement yet?”
“I thought that didn’t happen until later, another month or so,” I said.
“Well, technically you’re entering the second trimester now. It’s more a matter of the space available for movement during any pregnancy, Helen.” She paused. “Little squirt of jelly, warm, just like last time.”
“What do you mean, a matter of space?” Johnny asked.
“The larger the baby grows, the less room there is in the uterus and the more likely mom is to feel movement. In the case of multiples, that space is cut in half, basically, so mom might feel some movement earlier than in a single birth pregnancy. Make sense?”
“Sure,” Johnny enthused. “So… she’s gonna start feeling kicks soon?”
Joan applied the probe. Rapid heartbeats filled the room. I couldn’t stop beaming. I lifted my head and stared at the monitor expectantly.
“Probably nothing that defined at first,” Joan said. “Ah, there we are. Aw, look at that little face.”
Johnny and I stared in awe at the 3-D image.
“Beautiful,” Johnny said. He reached for my hand, got close enough for heat to brush my skin before he remembered. We were sharing this because we happened to be in the same room, nothing more.
“He’s a beauty,” Joan said.
“He? It’s a boy?” The wonder in Johnny’s voice squeezed the breath out of my lungs.
“Uh-huh,” Joan pointed to an area on the screen. “Plain as can be. The proof is right here.”
“What about the other one?” I asked.
Joan repositioned the probe. “Oops!”
“Oh my God!” I gasped.
“Felt that?” she chuckled. “This one’s shy. Trying to get away from me, aren’t you? And …” she froze the screen in a perfect butt shot. “There he is.”
“Another boy. We’re having sons, Helen.”
This time, when his hand brushed mine, I grabbed it and squeezed. “And they look healthy? All the measurements and whatnot are fine?”
“They’re absolutely perfect, Mrs. Orion. Would you like a 3-D photograph for your collection?”
“Yes,” Johnny said. “Thank you so much.”
“Truly my pleasure,” Joan beamed.
Chapter 19
The cease fire achieved in Dr. Harvey’s office didn’t last long. Within hours, the sniping started anew, and I made a decision. Being alone with my misery was preferable to sharing it by making someone else as miserable as I felt.
Part of the problem, at least from my perspective which was the only one that mattered to me, was that Dr. Harvey and Joan were both right. I was quickly running out of space in my formerly normal sized uterus. Its response was to naturally expand. That part was exciting, that and the fact that the tiny fluttering sensation was growing exponentially too.
The aspect I found not so great was that I had exactly two pairs of pants that I could comfortably wear now. I’ve never been a fan of the pelvic-bone-baring variety of blue jeans. Therefore, zipping and buttoning the jeans has evolved into Mission Impossible. Or at least Mission Uncomfortable.
There’s not a doubt in my mind that Johnny would take me to a department store to remedy the problem. I’m too stubborn to ask. So the stretchy knit that seemed too cold in the damp chilly winter is my only comfortable option. Unless I live in my jammies (sweats) all the time. While I’ve never been a slave to fashion, I’m not a Neanderthal either.
Springtime apparently is the equivalent of summer in Darkwater Bay. I’ve taken to tapping the thermostat, because it sure feels a hell of a lot hotter than 75 degrees. Hormones I suppose.
Johnny showed up outside my bedroom door one morning eight days after my last appointment with Dr. Harvey. He knocked softly.
I wanted to pull the comforter over my head and pretend I didn’t hear him. It would only make him knock harder or worse, barge in to make sure I hadn’t escaped during the night.
“Come in,” dreary words.
“Helen?”
“No, it’s Paris Hilton.”
He stepped into the room. “I need to talk to you about something.”
“Now what?” No sense in censoring how I felt. Neither one of us bothered filtering our thoughts lately.
“I’ve been dreading this conversation for awhile, but I can’t put it off any longer.”
“Let me guess. Someone from New York is about to beat down the door and arrest me for liberating Dad from Attica –”
“Joe is insisting that I go back to work.”
“Big deal. Go. I’m fine with that.”
“I’m not fine with it. In case you’ve forgotten, someone broke in here and tried to abduct you a couple of weeks ago. While I have no doubt that you can defend yourself, I don’t trust you to stick around afterward.”
“I am not hanging out at OSI while you conduct business, Johnny.”
“I wasn’t going to suggest it.”
“Then what?” God help me. The paranoia spiked worse than it ever has.
“It occurred to me that if I knew where you are all the time, it might alleviate some of my concern.”
I glared at him. “And how do you plan to do that from OSI?”
“Well, I picked up a device. Ordinarily they’re used for monitoring people restricted
by house arrest to –”
“You got an ankle monitor for me? Are you insane?”
“I don’t trust you. That’s a far cry from insanity, in fact, given your history, I’d say it’s the very definition of sanity.”
“So say some thugs show up here and overpower me? What’s to stop them from just cutting the damned thing off, or me cutting it off for that matter?”
“Same thing as if someone under house arrest does it. A citywide alarm sounds, the place is crawling with police in a matter of minutes instead of hours, and we at least know immediately that something is wrong.”
I pedaled the blankets off the bed and thrust one leg at him. “Then do it now! Make my prison official and get the hell out!”
I burst into tears by the time Johnny finished locking the device around my ankle.
He said softly, “Yeah, I know. I’m a real bastard, Helen. I hope someday you’ll understand why it has to be this way.”
Not forever. It was a silent promise to myself and my children.
He slammed the door on his way out of the house, and I cried myself back to sleep. My emotions bounced to a different extreme when I woke later that morning. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Make that afternoon, shortly after lunchtime.
My stomach rumbled on cue.
I didn’t bother with the shower, wrapping a plastic bag around my ankle seemed defeatist. Instead, I simply readjusted the loose hairpins securing the wig I was too ashamed to take off even for sleep, slipped into today’s pair of clean leggings and decided to take advantage of my limited freedom.
So he wanted to keep tabs. Fine with me. Let him track me all over town. There was no explicit order to stay home after all. Time would tell if he left me means to leave, even though I was securely tethered by an electronic device.
The keys to the Expedition were hanging on a hook in the mudroom. Deadbolts on the doors accessible with keys hanging from them. Maybe some clouds really do have a silver lining. I wouldn’t have to ask for clothes that fit me now.
I drove to Bay View’s pricey shopping district and entered a department store where I shopped frequently in the past. A personal shopper came to assist me and hurried along the winding paths through apparel and merchandise when I told her what I was looking for.
“Here we are. Maternity.” She made a sweeping gesture to all four racks of clothing.
My heart plummeted. “Where’s the cute stuff?”
“Oh, these things are sweet,” she said.
I pulled an oversized tee off the rack and held it up for her inspection. A bright pink arrow pointed southward. Emblazoned in glitter above it was the word Baby. “This is not cute. Maybe if you live in a trailer park in the –”
“A lot of women like that shirt, ma’am.”
“And I’m not one of them. Look at this stuff. These aren’t clothes – they’re tents.” I pulled a pair of jeans off another rack. All hope for clothing evaporated. Stitched into the denim at the waist, from hip to hip was a navy blue panel of something flimsier than Lycra. A sticker bisected the fabric that informed me it was breathable. What, did they think babies required fresh air in the womb?
“What am I gonna do? I can’t wear this… this… crap. I wouldn’t be caught dead in any of it. Surely you’ve got to have something more dignified. What do business women wear?”
She smiled, ten percent patience, ninety percent condescension. “Well, a lot of women simply choose to adjust their sizes up a little as the pregnancy progresses and wear normal clothing instead of maternity styles.”
“No wonder, if this is what you offer.”
“Would you like to look at some of our misses styles?”
“Please.”
I spent more than an hour trying on blouses. None of them concealed my burgeoning belly, but the upside was, I didn’t look like I was wearing camping gear either.
“You know, most women aren’t afraid to show off the baby bump anymore. You’ve got such a fantastic figure, you really shouldn’t be reluctant to reveal it,” she said.
“I wear jeans. Used to.”
“Oh, that’s no problem,” she said. “Low riders will go around your hips, right under the baby.”
“Babies,” I corrected her. “I’m three months pregnant. They’re twins, boys on top of that, and their father is a giant.”
She clapped her hands together. “I thought I recognized you! The hair’s a little different? Longer. You’re Dr. Eriksson!”
“Guilty.”
“Congratulations! Let me show you some of our more active wear designs. They’re classy, but they move.”
Apparently word of my retirement hadn’t spread like everything else did in this city. I was chagrined that Misty was right about the active wear. I left the store with eight bags of clothing, hopefully enough to get me through the next few weeks before I’d have to upsize again. She was right about the low rider jeans too. Just the absence of pressure around my low abdomen was a welcome relief.
Misty was kind enough to send me on my way wearing one of the new outfits.
I sat in the Expedition with the sun visor flipped down, surveying the tight three-quarter sleeve blouse that hugged every curve on my body. It felt more than a little self-conscious. People would only see marginally more if I walked around naked.
I caught a glimpse of the wig before I flipped the visor up. Even Misty noticed my hair looked different. Why bother hiding it? I should let it all hang out so to speak. My fingers dug through the synthetic hair and started pulling out hairpins. I tossed the wig onto the passenger seat and surveyed the damage.
“Next thing you know, people will start calling me butch.”
I fluffed and ruffled until the matted hair looked halfway presentable and glanced at my watch. Two thirty. I didn’t feel like going home.
Behan’s was across the street down the block. Maya and I sat there a few weeks ago, me sharing my deepest fears, she swearing an oath of fealty which she promptly betrayed. We never did get around to shopping for baby furniture.
“No time like the present.” I navigated my way through traffic to the store and went inside. Did Behan’s sell baby furniture? The saleswoman recognized me despite my butch cut, congratulated me and showed me to their selection of baby furniture.
The walls of the main level guest room where white. Unless I had it painted, the white furniture would be too much for a white room. I liked it best, and both cribs had railings that would convert to toddler beds.
I started imagining my sons at the age where they could have their big-boy beds instead of cribs.
“Hmm,” I nodded. “Definitely the white. I’ll need two of the cribs. Do you think I’ll need more than one changing table?”
“I suppose that would depend on the size of the room, Ms. Eriksson. We’ve got a beautiful rocker-glider that matches the baby set. Would you be interested in seeing that as well?”
Another image popped into my head. Babies nestled on each shoulder, rocking gently, humming lullabies. “I’ll take it. And one changing table. If I need a second table after the boys are born, I suppose I can order another one.”
She grimaced. “This set is on sale because the manufacturer is discontinuing the style. We’ve got several in stock now, but I can’t guarantee they’ll still be here in a few months. It’s a popular item.”
“I suppose I’ll have to take two in that case. If I don’t need it, we can put it in our room. What’ve you got for smaller cradles? We thought initially that we’d have the babies closer than the nursery.”
The saleswoman beamed. “We’ve got some beautiful models. Right this way.”
I spent a small fortune, but she was right. The cradles made me weepy. I apologized and ordered two ornate, brass cradles that were shipped with the bedding ensembles. I knew exactly what my bedroom would look like with them nestled into the sitting area. I would have enough room to keep the chaise, perhaps situated between the cradles.
“We can deliver the nurs
ery furniture this week,” promised saleswoman, “but the cradles ship directly from the manufacturer. They’ll arrive in two to four weeks. Some assembly is required.”
“That’s fine.”
“Would you prefer they arrive directly at your residence?”
“Yes, that would be perfect.”
Next stop, the interior paint store. This place contracted with the painters that had done the exquisite fresco work in my foyer.
I sat with paint cards fanned out in front of me. Nothing grabbed my attention.
“I’d suggest something in a lighter color,” the clerk said when she noticed that I kept returning to the darker samples. “Think light, airy, baby happy.”
“Something bright,” I nodded. The boys were due in autumn. I recalled with dread the dreary gray sky that would invade the city and stubbornly stick around for months. I picked up the card in the yellow family. Not too bright, not too pale. “This one. It reminds me of sunshine.”
“Excellent! Will you be using our contractor again, Ms. Eriksson?”
I nodded. Furniture on Thursday. I wanted the room painted before we started arranging the room. “How soon can they be there?”
She flipped through a calendar. “Mmm, let me see. I’ve got an opening two weeks from Thursday, and another one –”
“Oh, that long? This is a very small room in the grand scheme of the house, Lily. It couldn’t take more than an hour to do the job.”
“What were you thinking?” she asked.
“Tomorrow?”
She grimaced. “Let me give Stu a call and see if he can swing a small job on such short notice.
I started bargaining with the universe to cut me some slack, just this once.
Lily returned quickly. “They can be there at three tomorrow afternoon, but they’ll need the room cleaned out so all they have to do is tape and paint. Does that work?”
“I’ll make it work.”
It was after five when I left the store. Four hours since my last meal. I was famished. Running home to Johnny made my spirits flag. I hit a drive thru for two reasons – first and foremost, extreme hunger hurts. Secondly, it gave me a reason to procrastinate.
