CHAPTER TWELVE | VANESSA
Seventeen Weeks
“What’s next on the list?” Josh asked eagerly as he wheeled our shopping cart down an aisle stocked with powdered baby formula and bottles of Pedialyte.
“Let’s see…” I said, scanning my eyes over the Pinterest article that was displayed on my cell phone screen: ‘101 Baby Items that Every First-Time Parent NEEDS!’
I had forwarded the list to Josh the night before, thinking that it would serve as a sort of scare tactic or a wake-up call about the realities of raising a baby; the not-so-cute, not-so-cuddly side that wasn’t depicted in sappy diaper commercials or glossy baby magazines.
As much as I wanted to give Josh the benefit of the doubt and believe that he was in this for the long haul, I couldn’t help but wonder if he fully understood the responsibility that he was taking on -- that we were both taking on.
I wanted to make sure he knew what we were signing up for, and I figured that this list of 101 curated baby supplies would give him a taste of just what the future had in store. If a $300 breast pump wasn’t a wake up call about the pitfalls of parenthood, then I wasn’t sure what was...
When I texted him a link to the article, I had expected a sarcastic response; maybe an eye-roll emoji, or a ‘haha.’ Part of me even expected him to ignore the text altogether. I definitely hadn’t expected the response that he sent back, minutes later:
‘Perfect. When can I take you shopping Pinky?’
And that’s how we ended up spending an entire afternoon wandering around The Baby Shop and filling a shopping cart to the brim with overpriced baby supplies -- everything from blankets and bottles, to burp cloths and binkies.
I kept waiting for Josh’s enthusiasm to wane; for the first sign of boredom or panic to set in. But the eye-rolls and heavy sighs never came. Instead, he kept surprising me at every turn.
Like when we were browsing through the selection of humidifiers, and Josh suggested that we pick a unit that doubled as an oil diffuser (“I read that certain essential oils can be beneficial for establishing sleep patterns and boosting immunity,” he had informed me). Or, when he had chucked a pair of tiny white bamboo no-scratch mittens emblazoned with little yellow lightning bolts into our shopping cart (“babies have sharp little talons,” he had said, making a pinching gesture with his own fingers).
He had even picked up a stuffed plush dinosaur toy and tossed it into the cart (“just because”).
The more we shopped, the more obvious it became that Josh had been doing his research. And the more obvious it became that Josh had done his research, the more my resolve started to soften. The shopping trip might have started out as a test, but with each playful remark or passing joke, it was turning into something…else. Instead of strangers forced together by an awkward circumstance, we were starting to feel like any other first-time parents eagerly anticipating the arrival of their child...
“A car seat,” I said finally, reading off of the Pinterest list. “That’s the next item on the list: a car seat.”
“You got it, boss!” Josh swerved the cart around a corner and led us towards the back of the store. After spending most of our afternoon in The Baby Shop, Josh and I had both committed the store’s sprawling floor plan to memory. We rounded another aisle, and then we found ourselves standing amidst a jungle of bulky plastic baby thrones.
“Which one do you like?” Josh asked, bringing the cart to a stop and leaning his forearms on the front handlebar.
“Umm…” I glanced at the assortment of car seats. Each one looked slightly different: some were upright chairs, others were so reclined that they looked like clunky plastic bassinettes; some models were over-stuffed and puffy, while others were made of dense memory foam that was flat and contoured. And they all started blending together as my eyes glazed over…
I felt completely and utterly clueless: car seats were one topic that I somehow knew nothing about.
Since the day that I learned I was pregnant, I hadn’t stopped researching: I had fingered through the entire stack of baby books on my nightstand. I had read parenting articles and skimmed through baby forums on the internet. I had committed to memory the list of foods that were outlawed during pregnancy. I had read labor and delivery stories, and I had watched YouTube videos of women giving birth in inflatable swimming pools set up in their living rooms. I had familiarized myself with a new vocabulary or gruesome terms -- mucus plug, leukorrhea, meconium, episiotomy -- that simultaneously made my skin crawl, and made me wonder why the hell anyone would willingly subject themselves to pregnancy.
But somehow, through all of my research, I had never read up on car seats. I had no clue what I was looking for.
I gravitated towards a car seat that was made out of bubblegum pink faux-suede and trimmed with bright purple stitching.
“What about this one?” I asked, tracing my fingertip along the purple thread. “It even has a cup-holder!” I added, pointing out a pink ring that was outfitted on the side of the chair.
“That’s great,” Josh cracked a grin. “For when our baby makes all those early-morning Starbucks runs?”
Our baby. I tried to chuckle and suck in my breath at the same time, and I ended up making a strange little gasping sound. Josh noticed; he smirked at me, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m clueless,” I confessed, throwing my hands up in defeat. “I know nothing about car seats.”
Josh’s lips spread into a grin; not an amused grin…but an affectionate one. It was the same playful, affectionate grin that he had given me a few minutes earlier, when I had been repulsed to the point of nausea by his suggestion that we buy a NoseFrida nasal aspirator instead of the traditional booger bulb.
“Well,” he told me, “That car seat would be fine…when the baby gets a little bit older. It’s front-facing, see?” he pointed out the upright seat style, then explained: “That’s for toddlers. For an infant, we’re going to need something rear-facing.”
He placed his hand on the small of my back, guiding me towards another display table. My skin tingled where his fingertips sunk in, and I swallowed another gasp.
“See this one here?” he pointed out a bulky grey model, then he tested the safety straps with a gentle tug. “This was just ranked the safest car seats on the market right now.”
I felt my cheeks burn bright pink, the same shade as the bubblegum car seat. I wasn’t sure if I was blushing because Josh Hudson had just outsmarted me on something baby-related…or if it was because he made my heart race a little faster everytime he flashed me that smile.
“Ok, fine,” I said, fighting my own urge to smile. “I’m impressed, Hudson. You know your stuff.”
His eyes twinkled like he wanted to say something to that, but instead he reached for one of the car seats beneath the display table, packaged in a giant cardboard box. I felt my muscles tighten and my blood start to pump down towards my pelvis.
“What’s next?” Josh asked me, nodding towards my phone. But I didn’t really care about the list anymore…
“I think that’s enough shopping for one day,” I said. “Want to help me get this stuff back to my apartment?”
Ugh, really Vanessa?! I scolded myself silently. Could that have sounded any more like an invitation for sex?!
His eyes twinkled again and his lips curled up into a dirty little smirk.
“Sure thing, Pinky…”
***
“Where do you want me to put this?” Josh asked as he squeezed through the front door of my apartment. He had half a dozen shopping bags hanging from his forearms, and he was carrying the giant car seat box against his chest.
“This way,” I said, leading him through the apartment and towards my bedroom.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to my landlord about moving into a two-bedroom unit so that the baby can have a nursery,” I explained over my shoulder. “But for now, I’ve just been putting everything in my bedroom.”
Josh heaved the bulky car seat box into my bedroom, then dropped it into an empty corner next to my bed. As I watched, I felt a twinge of pain tingle along my spine. I arched my shoulders and pressed my palms against my lower back, wincing as I stretched.
I was nearing the four month mark and, although my ‘baby bump’ could still be passed off as beer bloat, my body already seemed to be feeling the strain of the extra weight on my abdomen.
And that wasn’t even the worst of it. As soon as I stretched my back I felt a hot pain flash through my chest, radiating from my nipples. Pregnancy had hit my breasts the hardest; they had ballooned overnight, seemingly doubling in size. This wasn’t entirely a bad thing: my tits had never looked better, rounder, or perkier. A quick glance in my bedroom mirror confirmed that I was filling out my violet colored camisole better than Pam Anderson in her prime.
The downside was that my swollen breasts were incredibly sensitive and tender, and these flashes of searing hot pain were becoming more and more common.
I grimaced as the throbbing sensation that tore through my chest, and Josh’s eyes flicked up to me:
“Pregnancy pains?” he asked, reading the expression on my face.
“It’s nothing,” I said quickly, straightening my posture and ignoring the dull tingle of pain that continued to flood my chest and lower back.
“Where does it hurt?” he asked, stepping towards me. I felt my breath catch in my throat, but I didn’t pull away when I felt his fingers graze the small of my back.
“Here?” he asked, somehow pinpointing the exact source of pain.
“Don’t worry about it--” I tried to say, but my voice gave out as his fingers pressed down on my back. Every nerve in my abdomen seemed to tingle in response, and I felt relief swirl under my skin as his fingers gently prodded through the fabric of my camisole.
Increased libido; another side effect of pregnancy, I gulped, remembering an article I had read a few days earlier.
“Does that feel good?”
I gave him a small nod and forced myself to keep breathing as his fingers carved soothing streaks over my strained muscles. My knees swayed, starting to give way to the sensation of his hands on my body.
I had never forgotten the way that he had made me feel that night at the wedding, but the memory had seemed almost too good to be true. I never thought I’d feel those things again; I blamed it on the emotions of the night, the Cabernet, the dancing…
But now the feelings weren’t just a distant memory: as Josh’s hands explored my back, I suddenly felt the same flood of fire and endorphins and lust pumping through my veins, all over again.
I remembered our conversation from the restaurant, about sex and moments of absolute desperation…and I wondered if this was going to be one of those moments.
“Sit,” he said, nodding towards my bed. I couldn’t tell if that was a suggestion or an order, but either way, I knew it was a bad idea.
I didn’t trust the way my heart was beating twice as fast. I didn’t trust the waves of fire that were twisting and folding over each other inside me. I didn’t trust the tingling desire that suddenly ripped through every inch of my body, from head to toe, screaming to make contact with every inch of him. And I definitely didn’t trust myself to climb onto my bed with Josh Hudson...
But still, I obeyed, keeping my eyes pinned on him as I sunk down onto the edge of the mattress.
He sat behind me and his fingers found the same spot on my back. He pressed his thumbs into my back, making soft swirls and circles.
“Don’t forget to breathe, Pinky,” he said, whispering into my ear from behind. My body was obedient: I immediately released the breath that I had been holding in my lungs, and I felt my frame start to soften under his hands like melting wax. My shoulders drooped down and my head rolled forward, inviting his hands to move up along my spine.
He gripped my shoulder with one hand and held me firmly in place. Then he opened the palm of his other hand and flattened it over my lower back. Keeping a firm grip on my shoulder, he pressed his palm up the length of my spine with a rugged, sweeping motion.
His hand moved so fast that it forced the air out of my lungs. My lips fell open and the exhale tumbled out in a soft moan of pleasure.
I knew this was a bad idea, and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to stop him -- or his hands -- from doing whatever he wanted to me. But I also knew that I didn’t want him to stop.
His fingers slipped under the spaghetti strap of my camisole, and he leaned forward so his chin was resting on the top of my shoulder.
“Why don’t you take this off?” he suggested.