“I’m coming out,” I grumble, catching the top rail of the fence and waiting for him to jump down. “You don’t know the first thing about being pregnant,” I growl.
“Neither do you.”
My eyes flash to him, but he’s grinning, and I don’t feel like being angry. I cross the fence and drop down between his muscled arms holding the top rail on each side of my shoulder. “You’re infuriating.”
“You’re adorable.” Leaning forward he gives me a quick kiss. “Mom said the doc can see us this afternoon.”
“Just give me a few minutes to shower and change.”
I stomp back to the house, leaving him grinning by the fence.
8
Definites
Stuart
Doctor Brown points to the black screen where white echoes flicker across what looks like deep-sea images. Then all at once, a tiny profile appears, and I forget how to swallow. Right in the center of a small black cave inside a mountain of white, the outline of a perfect little baby lying on its back materializes.
“Oh my god!” Mariska’s voice breaks as she starts to cry silently.
I reach for her hand, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the screen. The doctor moves the wand over her stomach, and the outline comes in and out of view.
“There’s a good, thick line here.” The doctor points with her pen along the profile of our baby’s head. “Good skull formation.”
I can’t speak as she continues to move the wand. The spine is visible. Every little bone in its little body shines like white light, and it looks like it might be sucking its thumb.
“She’s so beautiful,” Mariska sniffs. I glance at her then, and her face is beaming and wet with tears. We exchange a smile, our hands clasped so tightly, I can’t feel my fingers.
The doctor holds a segment still for several moments and we can see little legs propped upward and tiny feet.
“I’m taking pictures as we go,” she says. “They’ll be waiting for you when you check out.”
“Thank you,” Mariska says, wiping her cheeks. “Sylvia will be so excited to see them.”
“Your blood work shouldn’t take long to get back, but based on what we’re seeing here, your age and overall good health, I’d say you have very little to worry about.”
My stomach tightens at that. “Worry about?” Eyes on the doctor’s face, my brow lowers. “What would we be worried about?”
As happy as I am and as much as I love Mariska, I’m pissed at being out of the loop so long on this. I’m coming from behind, figuring out what all of this means, making sure my fiancée isn’t doing anything reckless like climbing into a pen with wild horses…
“Absolutely nothing—you have nothing to worry about.” The doctor has the nerve to smile as if I’m being silly. “It’s standard procedure to check for chromosomal abnormalities at this stage, that’s all.”
“Chromosomal abnormalities… that means…?”
“Down’s syndrome.” She points back to the screen, running her pen along our baby’s head. “This right here is a great indicator you have nothing to fear. Also, Mariska is young and healthy. It’s more an issue with older mothers.”
I turn and meet Mariska’s golden eyes. They’re glowing with tears, but at the same time, a sassy spark is in them. “You have to be patient with him, Dr. Brown,” she says. “He treats me like I’m made of eggshells now.”
Irritation bristles in my chest. “I just want you to take it easy and be careful.”
“Oh, no. Mariska should stay active,” the doctor says. “She can do pretty much whatever is comfortable all the way up to delivery. In fact, it’s better for her to be active. Active mothers are happy mothers.”
I’m sure she’s right. I’m also sure she’s referencing activities like jogging or swimming. Not riding horses or sleeping in primitive cabins in the middle of nowhere.
I take one more look at the tiny human peacefully resting in Mariska’s beautiful body and shake my head. “I’ll get her a treadmill.”
Both women laugh, and the doctor stands, removing the large white microphone-looking contraption and handing Mariska tissues.