Skila

The last few weeks have been nothing short of amazing. Tonight is the last playoff game of the season, and the winner of this game goes on to the NBA finals in June. I’m covering the game for the Los Angeles Daily Home again. Since turning in my exclusive piece on Kiptyn Price, Ames has pretty much given me free reign. He no longer breathes down my neck, babysitting me. It’s a welcome relief.

Before we head to the stadium, we have a doctor’s appointment. It’s the first appointment for the baby, and I am beyond nervous. The butterflies in my stomach won’t settle down to save my life.

Stepping from the claw foot tub in Kip’s master suite, I study my growing body in the full-length mirrors lining the walls. My baby bump has been growing steadily. Even now, it looks bigger than it was just yesterday. Running my hands along the stretched skin, I imagine meeting my beautiful baby, holding his soft body in my arms, and kissing his sweet head. Excited doesn't come close to describing the way I feel.

Kiptyn walks in the bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants that hang low enough on his hips that I can see his sexy ‘V’. I imagine tracing it with my lips. Slowly.

“Feel better?” he asks, coming to stand beside me. He fills his hands with lotion, and after rubbing them together to warm it, he places his hands on my belly. Every morning, he does the same thing, coating every inch of my body in cocoa butter to help with dry skin and stretch marks.

He drops down on his knees and runs his hands along my legs, up, up, up until he reaches the apex of my thighs. His fingers run along my swollen lips, teasing me. My head drops back, and a loud moan escapes. His touch doesn't linger long, and before I know it, he’s done. He leans forward, pressing his lips against the baby.

“You be good to your momma today. Daddy will be watching,” he says before kissing every inch of my stomach.

God, I just want to melt on the spot. I love hearing him talk to the baby. Hearing him say the word Daddy turns me into a puddle of liquid. I want to hear it over and over and over. I can’t believe how lucky I am. Of course, our relationship isn't perfect by any means, but I'm happy, happier than I have ever been in my life.

Only one thing could make it better, but I’m not pushing. If he decides he wants to be with me long-term, then he will tell me. I know his wanting to be a father to my baby has more to do with the fact that he’s his brother’s child. I’m not stupid. I know if it had been a stranger’s baby, then Kiptyn would have been out the door in a heartbeat. It doesn’t upset me. I’m happy, content knowing that my child won’t grow up without a father the way I did.

I confess, most nights I lie in bed wondering if he will still want me once I have the baby, if he is only staying with me to be certain I'm well taken care of and that the baby has all he needs. I practically moved in here the week after I found out. At nine o'clock that morning, I called the doctor’s office and made an appointment.

They couldn’t get me in for two weeks since I’m a new patient, and the anxiety over that fourteen days has quadrupled. I’ve bought a dozen more pregnancy tests and taken one almost every day since Kip first told me. I keep worrying that I’ll wake up and it will all have been a dream.

Part of me is worried they’ve made a mistake. I just know I’ll walk in the door and they’ll shamefully let me know that there was an error in the bloodwork. “You're not pregnant, Miss Parker.” I dread hearing those words. All my life, I had been told I couldn’t conceive, that there was no way my uterus would carry a child after the accident. I can’t tell you how many different opinions I had gotten, praying someone would give me a small ray of hope.

Kip refuses to let me go alone. I think he senses that I need someone there with me, someone to hold my hand and just be there for me. When the doctor walks in, the first thing he does is congratulate me. I burst in tears again. Kiptyn holds me close and explains as best as he can why I'm reacting the way I am. I let him take over, keeping my head buried in his chest, not peeking out until the doctor asks if I’d like to try and see the baby.

He explains that the ultrasound might not be able to pick up a clear image yet since we aren’t sure how far along I am, but I barely hear him. I'm going to get to see my baby and get the proof that I need, that this is real and not some sick joke.

I lie on the hard, bench-like table and lower my pants so the doctor can squirt some gel on my belly without getting it on my pants. The gel is cold, and I flinch.

“What’s wrong? Is it hurting?” Kiptyn asked, and I feel more than see his willingness to protect me from whatever unseen anomaly is hurting me.

“No, it’s just cold,” I say, reaching for his hand.

“It's ok, Dad. I promise that nothing about this procedure will hurt her.” Kiptyn tenses, and I worry that the doctor said something wrong, but when I angle my head back and look at him, he’s grinning from ear to ear.

The moment he touches the probe against my stomach, my breath locks in my throat. I hold it there, captive, until the loud thrum of a heartbeat fills the room. “Well, I think it’s safe to say you're a bit further along that you thought,” the doctor says, and tears leak from the corner of my eyes. I can’t believe it. I’m going to be a mommy.

“How far along?” Kip asks, taking the words from my mouth.

“Hmm, it looks to be roughly fifteen weeks, give or take a day.” Fifteen weeks. Three months, and I had no clue. In less than six months, I will be a mom.

Kiptyn pulls me to him, kissing me on the side of my mouth, pulling me out of my silent reverie. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold onto him. I kiss his shoulder. I want to tell him what he means to me and that I can’t go on without him. I want to hear him tell me I'll never have to, but I don’t, and neither does he.

“Congratulations, Mommy,” he says with a wink, and this moment is sealed in my heart for the rest of time.

“Congratulations, Daddy.”