“There’s no reason to assume the worst,” Asher tells me, reaching over to kiss my cheek. “We should only assume that which the tech has told us: she’s new and needs a doctor to look at the screen.”
“Okay,” I tell him, letting out a long sigh.
My practical, reassuring husband is right. I know that logically, if not emotionally.
There’s no reason to expect the worst. Except that I want this to work out so badly I would just die if it doesn’t. I really don’t know what I would do. I want to tell Asher more about my fears but I realize he’s a little worried too, from the way he keeps rubbing my belly and shifting in his seat. His normally confident aura is a little lacking.
It feels like it’s taking an eternity for a doctor to come. I can tell that Asher is thinking the same thing but doesn’t want to say anything. Instead, he hums a little lullaby to the baby, running his hand over my very slight baby bump.
It seems early for it to have appeared, but it’s noticeably there. I’d read online that sometimes first time moms don’t start showing until their third trimester but I guess I have genetics that lend me to an earlier protruding baby bump. I don’t mind, though, because I love being pregnant and I can’t wait to show—and tell—the world.
For now I can keep it under wraps with blazers one size bigger than I normally wear, and dresses with certain colorful patterns in places that draw one’s eyes away from my middle section, but pretty soon it’s going to be quite obvious. And that’s fine because pretty soon we will be able to tell people.
“You’re just fine in there, my Baby,” Asher says when he’s finished humming.
He pats my belly. I smile at him and put my other hand over his.
He’s already a great father.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” says Dr. Morris as he steps into the office.
“I’m so glad to see you,” I tell him, letting out another big breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding in so tightly. “Asher, this is Dr. Morris.”
“Nice to meet you,” Asher says, standing up to cross the room and hold out his hand to Dr. Morris.
“Oh sit back down and make yourself at home,” Dr. Morris tells him. “You have more exciting things to do today than shake my hand.”
Asher sits back down with a grin on his face and I want to tell him, “I told you you’d like him,” but I just laugh along with the two of them because I don’t want to give Dr. Morris an even bigger head that he already rightfully has. It rivals Asher’s, which is fine, since both of them are experts in their respective fields.
Dr. Morris is my regular family practice doctor and I trust him to be honest with me. He’s certainly more experienced than the ultrasound tech who walks back in behind him, looking a little sheepish.
“Let me take a look at what you were telling me about,” Dr. Morris says to the ultrasound tech, as he steps closer to the screen and places the wand back on my stomach. “It will also be a good time to teach you about looking at the different ventricles of the heart.”
It sounds as if things are okay. I’m just being used as a guinea pig for an ultrasound teaching moment. I don’t even care— as long as he tells me the baby is fine.
“See, there are kind of four sections, like this,” Dr. Morris continues, pointing at the screen with one hand while moving the ultrasound wand with the other. “Oh wait.”
He stops, and I tense up. So does Asher, but he keeps a tight grip on my hand.
“Well what do you know,” he says.
“Is the baby not okay?” I ask, bracing myself for the bad news, not sure how I can handle it.
“The baby’s heart rate is just fine,” Dr. Morris says, turning the screen around so I can see it. “But what had me stumped here is that there are two heart rates. So I guess I should say that the babies’— plural— heartrates are just fine.”
“Babies, plural?” Asher says, and audibly inhales.
“Yes, what?” I ask, unable to believe my ears.
“Right here,” Dr. Morris says, pointing at two babies on the screen. They’re bouncing around, and one of them is waving at us.
“This one was behind the other at first,” he says, pointing at the one who is waving. “That’s why it was confusing you.”
Now, he’s speaking to the technician.
“But you were right. That was two heartbeats you were hearing. One was just being shy, but now he or she has come out to say hello to his or her parents.”
He beams at us, and I start crying tears of joy instead of sadness. Looking at over at Asher, I notice a slight tear gathering in his eye as well— just like on our wedding day. This is only the second time I’ve seen my strong, brave husband come anywhere close to crying, and it’s only when he’s experiencing complete happiness.
This is why I love him. And this is why I’m so glad I’m having his baby. Make that babies. I’m having my boss’s— and my husband’s— babies. I can’t even believe it.