Page 53 of Sweet Escape
“That’s not uncommon, but it should start to resolve soon. If you’re still experiencing major episodes in a week or two, I want you to come in. We can prescribe some medication to help. Any pain or spotting?” She takes a seat on a rolling stool and approaches the table.
“No. Everything’s been normal.”
“That’s great. Lie back for me.”
The rest of the appointment is standard. She does a quick exam before we go over my test results from my first appointment. We discuss the slightly elevated blood pressure, and she starts me on a low dose of aspirin since I'm at risk for preeclampsia. Wilder is by my side the entire time, listening attentively to everything Doctor Patel says. When she leaves, he stands and holds out his hands.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Helping you off the table.”
I smile softly and take his hands in mine, awkwardly scooting to the edge of the table, dragging the crinkling paper with me as it sticks to my ass. My face flushes as a wave of embarrassment threatens to pull me under.
You’re fine, Olivia. This man ate you out like you were his last meal. It doesn’t get more intimate than that.
We head over to the ultrasound room next, and I pull my leggings down over my soft belly. I’m not showing yet, and I likely won't show until much later in my pregnancy, but I can feel the difference in my body.
The ultrasound tech comes into the dark room as Wilder stands stoically at my side, holding one of my hands between both of his.Is it just me, or is he nervous?
“This is going to be a little cold,” she says, squeezing the jelly onto my exposed midsection.
I wince as the chill hits my skin, but it doesn’t take long for me to adjust. Doctor Patel presses a wand over the gel and moves it around. She applies more pressure, tapping a few keys on the big machine, then she turns the screen so we can see. Wilder’s breath catches in his throat when the image comes into focus, and my eyes well up with tears. The last time I was here, it looked like little more than a gummy bear. This is… real. That’s my baby.
I glance up at Wilder, taking in his furrowed brow and the slight sheen to his eyes as he squeezes my hand.
“Is that a foot?” he says, his voice coming out choked.
“It sure is,” she says. “Ready to hear the heartbeat?”
We both nod, and a distinctive whooshing sound fills the room. I try and fail to keep the tears at bay, but they come unbidden anyway, my tear-soaked cheeks mirroring Wilder’s. I was utterly alone the last time I was here.
“We’re having a baby,” he whispers, barely audible beneath our little one’s heartbeat. He raises our joined hands, kissing my knuckles, then lowers onto his knees to kiss my forehead. “Thank you.”
I smile. “What are you thanking me for?”
“Everything, Liv. This is… everything.”
Wilder
There’s a trail of Cheerios from the kitchen island to the toddler-sized chair in the living room, the only sign Emmy Lou is up before me. She loves Cheerios; her mom did, too.
These bittersweet reminders of everything we’ve lost seem to find me when I least expect them, creeping in like a phantom pain. The memories are inescapable, and they settle heavy on my chest like a weighted blanket, somehow both comforting and crushing.
When I step into the room, Emmy freezes with her entire arm buried inside the box as she digs for another handful of cereal.
“Mornin’ Emmy Lou,” I say, holding in a laugh. Nobody tells you about those parenting moments when you really should be chastising them, but it’s all you can do to keep a straight face.
She smiles around a mouthful, a mass of blonde hair hanging wild around her head. I crouch near her chair, holding out my hand, and she reluctantly hands over her pilfered breakfast.
“Come on, Angel.” I reach around her waist to lift her into my arms.
She nuzzles against my cheek, and whatever I had been about to say with regards to her grand theft breakfast evaporates.
“Next time, come and wake daddy, okay? How did you even get these off the counter?”
She points to where she’s managed to arrange her bathroom stool and her high chair like a little MacGyver, giving her access to the countertops. I suddenly regret switching her over to a big girl bed. It’s too easy for her to escape. I’m not sure if I should be proud or horrified. It might be time to invest in a baby gate for the end of the hallway.
I set her down in her high chair and pushed it up against the island, pouring some of the Cheerios onto the tray. She squeals in delight, shoving fistfuls of them into her mouth.
