Page 90 of Give My Everything
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
She leaves the room, closing the door with a soft snick.
I glance at Ben, wondering what he thinks about me and my breakdown. I know he’s seen me cry before. I could argue that he’s already seen me at my worst.
But there’s something about being the one growing this baby inside of me that has me on the defensive. I don’t want him to question my capabilities as a mother, even though I question them myself every day.
He can think I’m crazy all he wants, but I want him to think I’ll be a good mom.
I don’t know why it’s so important to me, but it is.
“I’m sorry about that,” I say.
But before I can even say anything else, Ben gives me a look that tells me to cut it out.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he replies. “I’ll step out while you change, okay?”
I nod, waiting until the door closes to strip off my jeans and underwear and get settled on the seat with the paper dress hanging over my lap.
Dr. Quinn and Jessica walk in a few minutes later, Ben following in their wake.
He hovers awkwardly near the door as Dr. Quinn reviews my chart and Jessica prepares the machine and lubes up a wand that’s going inside of me.
“Alright, this will feel a little cool but shouldn’t be too uncomfortable,” Jessica says as she reaches under the paper to press the small stick into my vagina. Her eyes look at me as she slides it in. “That okay?”
I nod, even though having it in there feels…squicky.
Then I look back at Ben, who is still standing just inside the door.
I reach my hand out.
“Come here. You should see it.”
The apprehension on his face stays the same, but he moves forward and stands like a tree next to my chair, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder.
Instantly, I feel a lightening in my chest.
Jessica clicks around a few times on her computer with one hand, her other still holding the wand inside me.
The grainy screen suddenly fills with a large black space and…the shape of a baby.
My mouth drops open. This is…completely different than my first ultrasound. I was at seven weeks and the sac was mostly empty except for a tiny little thing that looked like I’d swallowed a button.
Now…
This baby has a big head and a belly and legs.
She moves the wand slightly, shifting the picture, and I can see a little arm.
“Baby looks great,” Jessica says. “Gimme just a second, and…”
She clicks a few buttons with her free hand and then I hear it.
The heartbeat. A rapid thump, thump, thump that has me placing a hand over my mouth and tears filling my eyes.
Something pivotal within me shifts and slides into place as I watch the tiny body on the screen, listen to the fast rhythm of its heart beating.
I need to get back into therapy, talk out my shit with someone, make sure every ounce of joy I feel in this moment is the primary feeling I get every time I look at my child.
