That Baby (8 page)

She raises an eyebrow at me. “I’ll make sure to ring the doorbell first.”

“After the other night, that’s probably wise,” I laugh.
 

She pulls me away from the construction zone and into the den. “You know, if you want to get pregnant, what you were doing won’t work.”

“Having sex won’t get me pregnant?”

She does a little cough. “Are you serious about wanting to be pregnant, Jade?”

“Uh, yes.”

“Didn’t you listen to all the stuff I told you the other day?”

“Of course I did.”

“No, you didn’t. Your eyes glazed over. Wait a minute. You were doing it on your couch! Don’t you have your period?”

“Oh, uh, it was really light this month. The pill, you know.”

She narrows her eyes at me.
 

She’s going to kill me when I tell her on Sunday that I’m already pregnant. But this conversation is cracking me up, so I let her keep going. And who knows, maybe I’ll need to know this for our next baby.
 

Oh my god. Did I really just think that?
 

I think back to the marriage test we took. How Phillip said he wanted four kids close together and I was thinking one sounded good. But I can so see us with a house full of kids.
 

Or maybe that’s the pregnancy hormones talking.
 

I resist the urge to put my hand across my belly.
 

She’s still going on about how I should put a pillow underneath me and not get up for at least ten minutes.
 

“How far along are you now?” I ask her, hoping to change the subject, even though she just told me a few days ago.

“Twenty eight weeks.”

“You look great,” I say, even though she’s looking a bit disheveled.
 

She runs her hand through her hair. “I’m still tired and the workers are here at the crack of dawn. I’m not sure why we decided to do this now.”

“Because you wanted it done before the baby comes.”

“That’s right. I need to keep reminding myself.”

“Do you have to be here the whole time they’re working?”

“Um, well, no.”

“Why don’t you go over to my house, take a long shower, take your time getting ready and then meet me for a late lunch. Then we could go look at nursery furniture. I know you’ve been wanting to do that.”
 

And, honestly, I kind of want to go look myself. I’m dying to design our baby’s nursery.
 

“Oh, that sounds fun. I can’t believe you’re offering to go shopping. Am I going to have to buy you drinks first?”

“No. I’m starting to like shopping more and more. I’ve been having a lot of fun choosing all the fixtures and furniture for the office building.”

“Well, I’ll take it. I have a list of four stores that are supposed to have the best stuff. We’ll start with that. Are you sure you can take off the whole afternoon?”

“Yeah, I need to swing by the job site and meet the engineer this morning and then go to the office, but I’ll meet you at one. Just text me where.”

“That sounds good.”

“Alright, I better get going.”

She gives me a tight hug, her plump belly hitting my still flat one. “Thank you. You know Danny hates to shop.”

I get tears in my eyes, thinking about how our stomachs just touched.
 

“What’s with the tears?” she asks, her own eyes quickly filling up.
 

“I was just thinking how our kids will grow up to be best friends.”

“Awww. Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

On my drive to the job site, Danny calls me.
 

“Sounds like I owe you a thank you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’re going nursery shopping with my lovely bride. Not to mention the show the other night.”

“I wondered when you were going to bring that up. You’ve been way too quiet about it.”

“I think it’s awesome. Enjoy it while you can.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Pregnancy changes things.”

“And Lori hates change.”

“Yes, she does because she can’t control it.”

“So your second pregnancy will go smoother.”

“Let’s just see if we can make it through the first one. I feel like I’m dancing in a minefield and I never know when I’m going to make a wrong step and blow up.”

“I’ve heard pregnant women are emotional,” I say, thinking about how my emotions are already everywhere.
 

Danny chuckles. “That’s an understatement. You ready for the Super Bowl Party? My parents want to stay with you, since our house is a disaster zone.”

“That’s fine. Shit. I should be cleaning. But, instead, I’m shopping with your wife. Maybe since I’m doing that, you should go over to my house and dust.”

“Maybe you should hire someone.”

“You know how Phillip is with money and now that we’re p—”
 

“Now that you’re what?”

“Uh, preparing to have children.”

“Preparing, huh? Looked more like
doing
something about it the other night.”

“Shut up, Danny,” I say, hanging up on him.

Dear Baby Mac,

I went nursery shopping with my friend, Lori, today. I’ve decided that going into a baby boutique the first time you are pregnant is similar to seeing a mythical creature. It’s an amazing experience. Everything was so teeny, soft, and perfectly wonderful. I wanted to buy it all and bring it home for you. But if I would have done that, it wouldn’t all match, so I started thinking up possible designs for your room.
 

There are lots of different decor options that are popular right now. And different rules of thought. Some believe a nursery should be bright and stimulating to the baby. Others believe it should be soft and calming. Others go the organic route. And others just want to be on trend. Some of the trends we saw were metallic gold, tribal, rustic, neutral colors, soft colors, bold graphics, vintage, and French inspired.
 

So basically, anything goes.
 

I’m also currently obsessing over a soft rose gold chandelier. Your father would die if he saw what it costs, but if they can get it in a smaller (and cheaper) size, I might have to have it.
 

I also saw a photo of a room that had teeny twinkle lights in the ceiling, similar to what they sometimes do in movie rooms. Considering your dad and I love to look at the stars, it seems perfect. Now I have to find the perfect everything to go with it. I’m leaning toward soft, calming colors.
 

Do you think you’d like that?
 

February 3rd

Constant worry.
 

“Phillip, we have so much to do. Go to the store. Clean the house. Get the food ready.”

“Why don’t you go to the store and I’ll clean?” he suggests.

“Really? You’re offering to clean?”

“Yeah, no problem. I’ll take care of it.”

“Phillip, your mom is coming. Her house is always spotless. I’ve been sick and we haven’t cleaned since we moved in.”

He kisses me. “You’re not sick; you’re pregnant. And don’t worry. I’ll do the upstairs bathrooms and vacuum the guest bedrooms. It’ll all be good.”

I know Phillip is meticulous and I really don’t want to clean, so I take him up on his offer.
 

Today, for the first time in weeks, I haven’t felt sick.
 

And although I should be rejoicing, I’m worried. Worried it might mean something is wrong with our baby.
 

Is this what being a parent is going to be like? Constant worry?
 

Now I see why my parents would freak out when I was ten minutes late for curfew.
 

On the way to the store, I get nauseous again, which is oddly comforting, and causes me to stop for a donut. I sit in the parking lot, slowly savoring it. Lately, a very slowly eaten plain white cake donut has some sort of magical stomach calming power.
 

Already behind schedule, I know I’m going to have to rush through the grocery store.
 

But when I arrive, the parking lot is packed.

Apparently, everyone and their mother are shopping for their Super Bowl parties.

At the store by my condo in Nebraska, I knew where everything was and could whip through quickly. This store has a completely different setup.

I think there should be some kind of law that forces all grocery stores to be set up in the same basic order. Instead of running through the store and getting all I need, I’m constantly backtracking.
 

I get sidetracked in the bakery, buying multiple loaves of bread, muffins, and a couple of cakes. But when I round the corner, the smell of raw fish makes me gag.
 

And even though I didn’t smell it before, now it doesn’t matter where I go in the store, the scent is overwhelming. I decide I have enough stuff, stand in line forever to pay, and then get the heck out of the store.
 

When I get home, Phillip helps me unload the groceries.
 

“Didn’t you get any tortilla chips?” he asks when all the sacks are empty.

I plop onto a barstool and start crying.
 

“Why are you crying?”

“I don’t know!”

He kisses the top of my head. “It’s not a big deal. I can run and get some or ask my mom to stop.”

“I didn’t get everything on the list, Phillip. I was all excited because I didn’t feel sick this morning. Well, I was worried but excited.”

“Why were you worried?”

“Because if I’m not sick, couldn’t that mean I’m not pregnant anymore? Or that I’m going to lose the baby? But on the way to the store, I got nauseous, which made me feel better. So I was fine shopping—even though I couldn’t find anything, but then I went by the seafood. After that, no matter where I went in the store I could still smell it. I had to get out of there.”

He pushes my chin up. “You got the beer.”

“That’s all our friends care about. But it’s my first party in our home, Phillip. I want it to be perfect. And that’s not like me.”

“You never stress over parties. You seem to throw them effortlessly.”

“That’s because I always get the beer,” I laugh. “You’re right. The party will be fun because of who is here. It doesn’t matter if the house is perfectly done yet or if there’s a little dust. It’s our friends and family who matter.”

“Exactly, right, Princess. Why don’t you stay where you are, tell me what to do, and I’ll make everything.”

“I love you, Phillip,” I say gratefully, knowing I probably won’t be able to cook the hamburger for the cheese dip without gagging.
 

“Are you excited to open all our wedding presents tonight?” he asks.
 

“I am. It’s fun that we have room to put everything. I’m so glad that your mom made me keep my parents’ dining room set. It fits the room nicely.”

“Still looks a little bare though.”

“Well, we can’t do everything at once. We spent most of our budget on furnishing our very own sports bar in the basement.”

“Worth every penny,” he says. “It’s an awesome room.”

“It is. I figure we can save up. Do a room at a time. We still need a kitchen table too. I looked a little online but I want something special.”

“Special how?”

“I want pieces that mean something to us, not just pretty stuff to fill up the space, if that makes sense. Like my mom’s favorite painting was one she and my dad bought on their honeymoon. I think when we see what’s right, we’ll know it.”

“The Plaza has an art fair every year. Maybe we could find something there,” he suggests.

“I love that, Phillip. Maybe even a painting of the Plaza itself. Or our fountain. Wouldn’t that be amazing?”