Chai Tea Sunday (2 page)

The first twelve weeks of my pregnancy were pretty easy. I had some mild nausea, but nothing overtly crazy like some baby-bumpers complain about. One woman in my Mama2Be group confessed that she couldn't stop craving dirt — it was a condition called pica, her doctor told her. Another complained about getting up close and personal with her toilet every hour of the day; the only thing she could keep down was chocolate cake. But it had to be devil's food cake. With white icing.

Eric and I promised ourselves that we would hold off on telling our families the big news until I was thirteen weeks pregnant and we were officially out of the first trimester fear zone. We hadn't thought we'd be able to keep it to ourselves, but Dr. Sansi had urged us to wait — she knew Eric and I were both a frazzle of nerves, given what we'd been through, and she was worried that well-intentioned yet unpredictably overbearing family members would add to our strain.

The days ticked by until, finally, we were able to break our news. It happened on the most scorching day in June, and we used my parents' pool as an excuse to visit. They were tipped off over mid-morning freshly squeezed lemonade, and Eric and I soaked up their reactions alongside the sunshine. My parents came through with the requisite grandparent reaction, complete with squeals and weeping with joy. My mother wiped away a tear, laughing at herself for getting so emotional, then crying all over again. My parents had continually provided us with support through our whole
IVF
ordeal, and knew almost every personal and intricate detail about what Eric and I had been through — except for the tiny fact that we had started our last round. We had decided to keep that part to ourselves in an attempt to alleviate any additional pressure. “We thought you were still doing hot yoga and meeting with that crazy reiki guy. A baby, Nic? A baby! Amazing.”

“No more hot yoga for me. And that crazy reiki guy must have helped!”

My father slapped Eric on the back, beaming from ear to ear. I couldn't tell whether the flush in his cheeks was from the warm weather or sheer grandpa pride.

“We've got to call Maggie!” My mother said, jumping up after setting her lemonade down in the shade. In the typical way I had witnessed so many times in my life, she doled out instructions to my father. “Paul, go and get the phone! And can you track down Maggie's number?”

Maggie had spent the previous year backpacking through Asia, and was currently in a small village called Ban Sida, somewhere in Laos. Maggie and a backpacker named Pradheep, a Canadian-Indian girl she had met at a Buddhist temple in Luang Prabang, had just tackled the steep uphill climb through the jungle into Ban Sida so they could help villagers plant rubber trees and rice. Although I applauded her philanthropy, it wasn't an ideal location for phone service.

My father emerged from the house five minutes later with both a number and the cordless phone in hand. Maggie's reaction was just as I predicted — animated and piercing, even over a crackling phone line with horrible reception. Her high-pitched tone took my mind to a long-ago time when Maggie and I were little girls. It was sad to hear her unchanged shriek overtop of the soft buzz of a bad telephone line. It reminded me of how far away she was, and just how much I missed her.

“Oh, sis, I was just about to book a fall ticket to Moscow, but it looks like I'll be landing at a different airport now! I can't wait to meet my little niece or nephew. I will definitely be there. I wouldn't miss it for the world! I'm just so happy Dad tracked me down. It's really quite shocking that we're speaking right now. You should see it here . . .” The phone cut out momentarily, before Maggie's stream of consciousness babble picked back up and she chattered on about Laos and all that she had seen.

After a few minutes, she veered the conversation back to our baby. “Do you have names picked out yet, Nic? Maggie, maybe? Sure has a nice ring to it, yes? I definitely think it should be considered.”

She took a breath, and I laughed. I told Maggie that, yes, we had talked about a few names but, no, her name wasn't on our short list.

“Okay. Then how about Julia?” Maggie pushed, moving to her middle name.

“We'll see, Mags. You just focus on getting yourself home so that you can hold your baby niece or nephew,” Eric's voice chimed in from the phone upstairs, where he was listening in. I knew he'd be nearly as excited as me to learn that Maggie was coming home when our baby was born. As one of four boys, Eric had never had a kid sister and Maggie had become like one to him.

We chatted for a few minutes longer and said a reluctant goodbye to Maggie. After hugging my parents one final time, Eric and I got in our car and drove the three hours north to his parents' cottage in Muskoka. Although Toronto was still officially home to Eric's parents, they traded in their smoggy summer days in the city for boating on Lake Rosseau — a venture that had become particularly easy since Eric's father had officially entered into retirement by selling his three pharmacies in Toronto.

We had spent a lot of time at the cottage in the down days of fertility treatments. It had become a place of mental escape for us, the healing powers of the water never ceasing to amaze me. Somewhere on our rough road, Eric's family cottage had come to feel like a home away from home for us and we loved going there as much as we could.

In complete contrast to the mezzanine bedrooms and exposed brick of the Candy Factory Lofts where Eric's parents spent their winters, their cottage was designed to mirror the coastal classic style inspired by Cape Cod. It brought the natural elements of lakeside life indoors, with antique hemlock floors and picture frames made of birch. The slip-covered toile sofas and handmade quilts created the feeling of true Muskoka living for anyone who visited — and also contributed to the cottage being featured in a double-page spread in
House & Home
the previous summer.

Eric's parents, Brian and Amelia, were surprised to see us join them on the dock, having just settled into their matching red Adirondack chairs with an open bottle of Barolo and two newly filled wineglasses sitting between them.

“My goodness! To what do we owe this surprise?” Eric's mother asked, jumping up to give us both a hug as our flip-flops hit the dock.

“We were going to call, but we thought it would be more fun to surprise you,” Eric responded, giving his mother a big squeeze.

“We brought dinner,” I added, wanting them to know we didn't expect them to feed us. “We picked up some steaks from the Cottage Butcher in Bala, and some vegetables and potatoes as well. We didn't know Gravenhurst had a farmers' market, but it worked out well. We drove through just as they were starting to close.”

“Lovely — this will be wonderful,” Brian said as he stood up. “We're so happy you're here. Let me just get a couple more wineglasses.”

“Just make it one, Dad,” Eric said, squeezing my waist from the side. “And a fruit juice or water for our future mama.” Eric placed his other hand gently on my tummy as I looked up at him, grinning.

“What?!” Amelia screeched, holding her hands to the sides of her head. “Oh darlings! What amazingly wonderful news.”

“We were going to tell you at dinner, but I guess Eric couldn't wait any longer,” I said, laughing. “Yes, I am definitely pregnant. Thirteen weeks and one day, to be exact.”

“Well, tell us everything!” Amelia pried, hugging Eric, and then me.

Brian joined the hug, his words muffled through the enclosed grip. “A brand new baby for you, and an eighth grandchild for us. How great! And what a reason to celebrate.”

Amelia enthusiastically nodded her head, her diamond hoop earrings dancing in the sunlight.

“I'll get the third wineglass and a bottle of sparkling peach juice. Is that okay with you, Nic?” Brian asked, holding his hand to his eyes to shield them from the sinking sun.

“Perfect,” I answered, returning his grin and getting comfortable on the chair Eric had brought me from the boathouse. Despite my not even showing yet, Eric felt an Adirondack chair wouldn't be comfortable enough, and wanted to get me something more upright. It was typical Eric: thoughtful and protective, but sometimes overly so.

When Brian returned from the cottage, he poured a glass of wine for Eric and raised his own glass in a toast. “To my youngest son and his lovely wife, Nicole. I cannot think of two people more deserving of parenthood or the joy it will soon bring you. You will be loving parents and our grandchild is lucky to be born into your family.” Brian raised his glass to meet ours and the bubbly yellowy orange of my peach juice contrasted against the light red of the Barolo. I clinked their glasses and thought about how nice it was to hear such soft and loving words come from Eric's father, whom I had only known to be business-like and stern in all of the years I had known him.

As I lowered my glass, I could practically feel the quickly beating heart of our developing baby and my stomach flip-flopped as I realized that, next summer, our seven-month-old baby would be sitting with us on the cottage dock.

“Will you find out the baby's sex?” Amelia asked.

Eric shook his head no while swirling the wine in his glass; wide stripes slowly rolled down the sides of his glass before he continued. “We thought we'd wait. Keep the surprise for as long as possible, you know?”

I took a sip of my peach juice as I watched Eric inspect the wine's legs. While I had agreed to his request of not finding out if we were having a boy or a girl, I knew in my heart we were having a daughter. And the daily baby email I had received that morning told me she was about three inches long and could already be sucking her thumb.

“Makes sense. Well, what about names?”

“Nothing yet, Ma. We've thrown around a few, but have decided not to share until we narrow it down.”

“Totally understand. Okay, well, I didn't want to tell you before now, but I've got a bunch of baby clothes tucked away at home,” Amelia gushed. “I couldn't help myself. I would find these adorable little outfits, and I knew I would one day be able to give them to you.”

“That's very nice of you. Thanks, Ma. ”

I nodded, smiling at Amelia. I sipped my peach juice, glowing at the thought of the tiny baby clothes that were waiting for us. “And what about a shower?” Amelia continued. “We simply have to throw one for you. Perhaps we could have it here? We'll invite all of Eric's aunts, and Jocelyn, Laurie and Emmy too, of course.”

“Have you told them?” Brian asked, referring to Eric's brothers and their wives.

“Not yet, Dad. We wanted you to know first.” Seemingly happy with the wine's legs and clarity, Eric took a long pull from his wineglass. I could tell he was overjoyed to have told his parents, and the realization of becoming a father was beginning to sink in. But at the same time, I noticed a certain tightness forming in Eric's jaw, the way it often did around his parents. While he was close with both of them, he didn't like their — at times — overbearing nature.

“They are going to be as happy as we are that you're adding to the Sedgwick rug rat pile,” Brian joked, referring to the nickname he had given to his growing fleet of grandchildren.

“Well, there's no point waiting any further,” Amelia said, finishing the last sip of her wine and collecting the empty bottle. “Let's go up to the cottage and spread the news!”

“You guys go ahead. I'll put Nicky's chair away and join you in a minute,” Eric suggested, crossing the dock to hold my hand as I stood up from the chair.

I agreed with his suggestion, but deep down I knew he really just needed some time to himself. As thrilling as our news was, it was also a bit overwhelming for him. In our years together, Eric frequently needed “moments of pause” as I called them, when he could organize his thoughts and let the big things in life sink in. It wasn't overly surprising that he wanted a few minutes by himself before we let his whole family know.

“You sure, dear? We can just put the chairs away after dinner,” Amelia coaxed him, pushing Eric towards the cottage so we could call his brothers.

“No, Ma, really. I'll be up in a minute. You guys go on ahead.”

“But aren't you dying to tell your brothers?”

“Soon, Ma. Just give me a few minutes. You guys go ahead.”

Despite the occasional friction Eric had with his parents, his repeated resistance took me slightly off guard. I had never really given his need for alone time much thought; I simply responded by letting him take the time he needed by finding someone else to carry on my never-ending conversation with. But with my developing baby now taking up all of my focus, I wondered how the impeding world of fatherhood would affect him and his need for frequent solitude.

Amelia finally gave up and turned to catch up with her husband who was already halfway to the cottage. With Eric's parents so far ahead of me, I took my own moment of pause on the Muskoka steps leading up to the cottage to turn and watch Eric. His gaze was permanently fixed on the lake as he shoved his hands in his pockets, letting his thoughts get lost in the overarching pink and orange sky.

As my pregnancy progressed, my belly bump grew. Despite Eric's constant doting and worrying, the
OB/GYN
who took the place of Dr. Sansi once I had successfully completed the first trimester assured me that my monthly checkups were normal. Our little peanut was growing beautifully and, as the doctor always described, as happy as a clam.

At eighteen weeks, I went for the standard prenatal ultrasound. I was told to drink plenty of water and not pee, which was about as easy as not blinking when someone blows straight into your eyes. By that point, I had six inches of baby sitting on a very full bladder.

The technician brought me into the dim room and squeezed warmed jelly on my belly. She placed the transducer (I had become an ultrasound naming expert during my time with Dr. Sansi) on my abdomen and started to take the baby's measurements.

I lay on my back for forty-five minutes, dying to see what she was looking at, until, finally, she asked if I'd like for her to get Eric from the waiting room so that we could see the baby together.

“Yes! Please!” I replied, grateful that we could experience seeing the baby together. Eric walked in behind the technician, and then she showed us the baby's itty-bitty pulsing heart and let us listen to its magical beat.

Then the technician panned the baby to reveal two arms, two legs and an adorable face with two ears, two eyes, a nose and a mouth.

“Is that . . . ?” Eric's voice trailed off and he pointed to something resembling a small tube that had floated onto the screen.

“No,” the technician laughed. “That's the umbilical cord. But I do know if it is a boy or a girl, if you'd like to know.”

Eric had stayed firm on our decision to not know the baby's sex, but I could tell the pendulum was starting to sway to my side. He shifted his feet and cleared his throat, obviously a bit uncomfortable and not knowing which way we should go.

“It's up to you, Eric. You know I'm happy to find out or wait.”

“Oh, okay, well, let's just do it. Let's find out. I thought it would be better to find out the day the baby is born. But it seems more real now that I know someone
else
knows the sex of our baby. I think I need to know too.” Eric squeezed my hand. “Let's go for it!”

I nodded at the ultrasound technician, signalling that I agreed with Eric.

“Well, since you've decided to find out, why don't I just show you?” The technician punched in a few buttons on the ultrasound machine in order to bring up a new screen. “Here are the baby's legs, which we saw before. Here is the middle of the baby's legs, and you can clearly see that there is nothing there hanging around. If it were a boy, you would see a swollen lump directly in between the baby's legs. It's a pretty clear shot, so I would say with some serious certainty that you are having a little baby . . .
girl
!”

A girl! I knew it.

Some might call it maternal instinct, while others would point out that I had a fifty-fifty shot at guessing the baby's sex, but every fibre in me had screamed we were having a girl.

Eric wiped away the tear that had started to roll down my cheek. “Congratulations, Mama. Looks like we'll be bringing home a daughter in a few short months. We better go and buy some pink!”

The autumn air became cooler, and a hint of winter was promised in every new morning frost. The bright red leaves on our backyard maple trees were a long-lost thought, and the chill in the air brought shivers to anyone who stepped outside.

Except me.

My belly had continued to explode, acting as a cozy home for our baby girl and a warming blanket for me. Despite always being cold in my pre-pregnancy days, I was constantly hot, and chose to ignore Eric's grumbles when I insisted on sleeping with all of our windows open.

As Christmas drew near, Eric and I went about our annual holiday duties. He put up the lights while I baked gingersnap cookies and made peanut butter balls for all of our nieces and nephews.

Three weeks before Santa was due to arrive, while we were sitting in front of the fire munching on warm shortbread cookies straight from the oven and drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows (extra for me given that I seemed to feel better after copious amounts of sugar), Eric brought up names for our baby.

“I think we should really pick our name, Nic. It's getting close,” Eric pressed, wiping crumbs from my belly, which, somewhere along the way, seemed to have become a food trap for anything that didn't quite make it into my mouth.

“Uh-oh. Here we go again. We've been through the baby name book every day for the past three months. Nothing is jumping out!”

“Doesn't mean we don't need to pick a name. We can't raise a little girl named Baby Sedgwick,” Eric teased.

“Okay, what new names are you thinking of?” I asked, taking a big bite. The maraschino cherry pressed into the centre of the cookie was gooey compared to the satiny crumble of the shortbread.

“Well, I was thinking lately that I really like
Emma
,” Eric replied. “What do you think?”

“Hmm. Too popular,” I answered.

“Okay, how about
Matilda
?”

“Too trendy. And too Hollywood.”

We were having another repeat of our daily conversations and getting nowhere. For some reason, I just couldn't seem to commit to a name. Nothing seemed good enough. Nothing seemed right.

“I know —
Whitney
!”

“Uh . . .
no
. I'd feel like we were raising someone destined for
MTV
.”

“Well, we can't have that.” Eric scratched his head. “Maybe we should take a different approach and consider the names of our relatives. My grandmothers don't really help at all, given that they were Stelladora and Beatrice.”

“Um, yeah, just a little old-fashioned.” I looked into the fire and thought of our grandmothers, and any iteration that came from their names. And then it hit me. “But what about Ella?”

Eric stared at me in disbelief. “I can't believe you finally like a name! That's a version of my nana's name . . . I love it. Are you sure about it?”

“Yes. I definitely like it. A lot. And I love that it is special.”

“Well, then, Ella it is.” Eric smiled at me. “Now what about a middle name?”

“Don't push it, Eric. It's a wonder that we even found a first name.”

“Just hear me out. I think I have a great suggestion. What about Ella Margaret? I think a plane ride back from Laos warrants being named after, yes?” Eric suggested, referring to my sister. “Not to mention that Margaret is your mom's middle name.”

“And my grandmother's middle name, actually.”

“So it's perfect!”

“Ella Margaret,” I said out loud, realizing that I loved it. It had a charming ring to it that felt like home.

“Do we have a winner?”

“I think we do. It really feels like the right name,” I confirmed, kissing Eric and sinking into him next to the warmth of the fire.

“Mmm-hmm. I love it too. And I love you, Nicky.” Eric nuzzled into my neck, and my insides stirred.

I deepened the kiss. Reached out to my husband in a way that I had avoided since living through the hormone crazies of my second trimester. And Eric immediately reacted, drawing me closer with a response so intense it felt like obsession.

Within moments, heat as strong as the fire we were sitting beside snaked through our bodies. My breath caught on the fervor of its intensity, both of us desperate for the peak that was as selfish as it was giving.

On the Saturday morning after we chose Ella's name, Eric finished painting the nursery. He had been working on it for over two weeks, taking painstaking efforts to ensure every detail was perfect. He had painted the walls light green before adding giant lilac bubbles to one wall to match the decor I had selected. He had been fastidious about every inch and I knew the finished room was going to be perfect.

“Do you think we can move the furniture in now?” I asked Eric, taking in the newly painted room. “I can call the store manager to see if everything can be delivered today. I know it's short notice, but they said to just give them a ring when we were ready.”

We had purchased all of Ella's furniture at a trendy baby boutique and they were holding everything in storage for us until we needed it. We had spent a large chunk of change at the store, purchasing everything from our overpriced baby stroller to organic baby bibs, and I had gone a bit overboard with the number of sleepers and outfits I had purchased. I just couldn't seem to contain my baby excitement and it showed through my shopping bills.

The store manager confirmed everything would arrive that afternoon, and within hours of Eric's last brush stroke, the doorbell rang and two burly men sporting late-afternoon stubble and sweat marks down their backs carried all of Ella's furniture into her room.

Eric and I spent the rest of the day taking our purchases out of boxes and putting everything away. I washed all of her clothes in Ivory Snow while Eric surrounded himself with tools and bolts in order to put together the glider.

I removed the delicious smelling baby clothes from the dryer and neatly folded her onesies and jammies before putting them into drawers. Ella's closet was a sea of pink, including the little dresses I had purchased on my own and the outfits that so many of our generous friends had given to us at our baby showers. Her change table held little white baskets lined in lilac and green bubble cloth, which we had filled with unopened baby creams and newborn diapers.

“It's exactly as I imagined it,” I sighed, stepping back from Eric to admire Ella's sweet baby room. Every detail had been finished. I sat in the glider, holding the pillows that had been customized to match the decor of the room, and imagined myself rocking my baby girl to sleep at night.

“I love it too.” Eric kneeled beside me, putting the pillow aside and taking my hand in his. I leaned towards my husband and somehow managed to kiss his forehead. My bulging baby bump had become a source of restraint for me, and even the smallest movements were proving difficult.

As my body tilted forward, the cross necklace that Eric had given me at Babouch leaned with me, and then gently hit my throat as I returned to a sitting position. I touched the delicate necklace with my fingers, happy to have it fastened securely around my throat. I hadn't taken it off since Eric had given it to me. It served as a constant reminder of the adversity we had faced and, with it, the marital strength that had ensued.

“And now we wait,” Eric said, interrupting my thoughts. “I'm going for cookies. Want some?”

“Always.”

“You stay comfortable and I'll go get some Christmas cookies and two glasses of milk so we can toast Ella's new room.”

Eric jumped up and took a final look around before heading downstairs to get our well-deserved afternoon snack. As I sat back in the chair and watched him retreat downstairs, my heart filled with warmth at the thought of how lucky we both truly were.

And then I felt it.