“There’s the heartbeat,” she says.
Tears spring to my eyes. Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh.
This is the first time this has actually felt real since I took that test. I know it said positive, but when you don’t really feel any different and you can’t see inside there, it’s sort of hard to believe, or it’s easier to believe it’s a false positive.
But this right here is hard evidence.
She takes some measurements. “You’re measuring at seven weeks, four days.”
“Seven weeks?” I blurt. “I’ve been pregnant for seven weeks?”
She nods and smiles. She must hear exclamations like that all the time.
“Everything looks great.” She prints out some pictures and hands them over to me. I stare at the wavy lines. One of them has the word baby with an arrow pointing down to what looks like a little jellybean.
My little jellybean.
“You can head back to the waiting room and your doctor will call you in shortly,” she says, and I’m just supposed to get up and walk into the waiting room?
But I’m pregnant! Is that safe?
Okay, I’m being dramatic. But the point is that I have no idea what this means. I have no idea how to take care of a pregnant body. I wasn’t real sure how to take care of a regular body, either. Or shoes, apparently.
And I express that as soon as I’m called back. The tech takes my blood pressure and records some things on a sheet of paper. “Congratulations,” she says.
“Thanks. So what do I do?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“How do I take care of myself?” I ask, or rather, I beg. “How do I keep this baby safe?”
She smiles. “The doctor will have all sorts of information for you as well as resources to help you. But during my first pregnancy, I asked my sister everything. She had two kids. Do you have someone like that you can go to?”
Nicki pops immediately to mind. “My best friend is pregnant.”
“Aw, you two can go through this together. So sweet.”
I smile. She’s right. It’ll be a lifesaver—or at least a sanity saver—to have her nearby.
The doctor comes in, and the tech was right. She gives me an entire bag of stuff for newly pregnant mothers (mothers! I’m going to be someone’s mother), and I’m going to need to find somewhere to put this until I figure out a way to tell Luke about this little secret.
She gives me a quick exam and taps some stuff onto a tablet. Before she leaves, she asks if I have any questions.
There’s one question that keeps flitting through my mind. I guess this is my chance to ask it. “I’ve been on the pill for years. How did this happen?”
“There are lots of potential reasons,” she says, sitting on a stool to explain. “The pill is ninety-nine percent effective when it’s taken perfectly. For most women, that’s a little closer to about ninety-one percent, and lots of things can affect it. For example, if you take it at different times, or if you miss one, or even if you drink too much or take certain medications. Do any of those sound relatable?”
“Possibly the drinking thing,” I admit. And there may have been a day or two where I took it later than usual or when I missed it altogether. It’s all sort of running together now, and for the first time, I’m starting to feel a little queasy.
“And you’re aware of all your options?”
I nod. We all learned of the options back in our high school health classes, right? And regardless of how this happened, I feel a sudden fierce protection over whatever’s growing in there. Something I’ve never felt before in my life tugs at my conscience, something that tells me I will stop at nothing to ensure this baby is safe, protected, and loved.
“How soon can I find out gender?” I ask. It’s a boy. I can feel it.
“Usually around twenty weeks, but if you decide to get the genetic testing done, that can be done as early as ten weeks and it screens for gender with ninety-nine percent accuracy.”
My brows dip. “What’s the genetic testing?”
“A noninvasive prenatal test that screens for certain genetic disorders,” she explains.
“Am I supposed to get that done?” I ask.
“That’s a decision for you and the father, if you’re including him in the decision-making.”
“I am,” I say quickly. “I just have to figure out how to tell him we’re having a baby.”
She smiles. “Are you going to do something special?”
“I don’t know,” I murmur.
“Read through the new mom packet in the bag I gave you, and feel free to call the office at any time with any questions,” she says. “We’ll see you back in a month, or if you want the genetic testing, a bit sooner.”
I nod, and she leaves.
I make my next appointment for a month. Once I figure out how to tell Luke, we can discuss the genetic testing.
Holy shit.
I’m having a baby.
With someone who counted his blessings just the other day that he’s not having one.
CHAPTER 11
“I’m pregnant.”
I say it into the mirror, and it still doesn’t feel real. Now that it’s confirmed, I should tell Luke. I just have no idea how to break this news to someone whose entire life is already in complete upheaval. This will throw him into a tailspin, and somehow I can’t help feeling like it’s my fault. I realize it took two of us to create this life, but I assured him I was on the pill. I thought we were safe. I even urged him to forego the condom.
And despite this totally unplanned surprise, that’s exactly what it is—a surprise. It’s not a mistake. It’s not a problem. It’s not an accident.
It’s a baby.
A baby that’s part me and part the man I love, and when we said our vows that we’d join together in all that is to come, well...this is part of it. Our vows were real even though our intent wasn’t.
I just hope he’ll feel the same.
I don’t have a plan other than to just go down there and blurt it out.
But when I get to the family room, he’s still engrossed in football. Instead, I take Pepper outside. We sit on the patio for a little while, and I confess my secret to her. Her ears perk up. Her life’s about to change, too, and the pup doesn’t even know it.
I lose my nerve. Friday morning means a doctor appointment for Luke at the Aces’ practice facility, where a team doctor talks to him about his progress.
“Have you been doing the stretches they gave you at the hospital?” he asks.
Luke nods, but I jump in with the accurate information. “Not as often as he’s supposed to.”
Luke glares at me for telling the truth, but I don’t care. Go ahead and get mad at me, dude. This is about recovery, not about pretending to be an angel.
“The swelling is much better,” the doctor says, “but since you still can’t bear weight without pain, we’ll hold off another week on physical therapy. Potentially next week, but possibly a little longer yet. No walking and no bearing weight until you see me next Monday, but you need to do the stretches. You won’t be ready for PT if you don’t start rebuilding the muscles and movement. Understand?”