Becca's Baby

“I’m hoping the entire mess will disintegrate,” he said. It took Becca a second to realize that he was still discussing his friend. “With luck, Todd will take a heads-up from our conversations, and if he’s been seeing more of the girl than he should, he’ll heed the warning and stop.”

“No pun intended,” Becca said. Considering the situation, Will’s choice of words wasn’t funny at all.

A NURSE ADJUSTED the lead weight as Becca stood on the scale. “Same as you were last time.”

Frowning, Will looked over the nurse’s shoulder. Becca could feel his heat along her back, could smell the aftershave she’d chosen for him more than two decades ago and still loved.

She couldn’t help thinking, as they were ushered into a little examining room, that if the doctor’s visits served no other purpose, at least they were an excuse for her and Will to be together.

The blood pressure cuff was tight on her upper arm. Becca tried to be calm, to will herself healthy. And just in case her best efforts weren’t good enough, she prayed, too.

“Blood pressure’s fine,” Dr. Anderson said as she jotted numbers on Becca’s chart.

“Thank God.” Will’s soft sigh warmed Becca. Despite the emotions and doubts churning inside him, despite his withdrawal, he was concerned about her. He wouldn’t leave her to deal with this pregnancy by herself. That meant the world to her.

“Why don’t you slide up here?” the doctor said, patting the paper-covered examining table. Even dressed in her wool sl

acks and long-sleeved cotton blouse, Becca shivered, but did as she was told.

Feeling a little awkward all of a sudden, lying flat between her husband, who hadn’t seen her naked since before their last visit, and the doctor, Becca stared straight up at the little dots patterning the ceiling. Everything was going to be fine. She’d promised herself it would be.

“She’s still getting violently ill every night,” Will reported as the doctor lifted Becca’s blouse up past her ribs, exposing a belly that was actually a little bloated.

Dr. Anderson nodded silently.

“That doesn’t worry you?” Will persisted.

“It’s perfectly normal,” the doctor murmured, feeling Becca’s stomach. “She’s at twelve weeks now, so it should pass soon.”

Will was looming right above her beside the table. From her peripheral vision Becca could see him watching the doctor intently.

Hands resting on Becca’s abdomen, the doctor met her eyes. “You’re eating well throughout the day?”

Becca nodded.

“All the books recommend daily exercise,” Will said. “But they don’t say how much.”

Becca had wondered about that. She’d had no idea Will was wondering, too. It was imperative that she do everything necessary to help this baby into the world and, equally, that she not do anything to weaken her chances of a successful delivery and a healthy child.

“We can go over that when we’re through here,” the doctor said, though she sounded distracted. “I’ve got some pamphlets….”

The room was silent as the doctor continued to probe gently, and Becca started to worry in earnest. She couldn’t do this. She just couldn’t bear it if something went wrong. She wasn’t strong enough to cope. Her chest tightened, making each breath labored, a painful chore.

“Have you felt any cramping?” the doctor asked.

Becca shook her head, still gazing at the ceiling, enduring, doing everything she could to lie there calmly.

She almost jumped right off the table when Dr. Anderson pulled her stethoscope out of the big pocket in her white coat. Staring at the thing, which had two headpieces, feeling as though it was some big menacing needle, Becca sat up on her elbows, heart thundering. She wasn’t ready for…whatever this meant.

“Lie back down,” the doctor said, easing Becca’s shoulders to the table again.

Longing for a return to the bliss of ignorance, of hope, of having moments when she actually allowed herself to believe it could all be real, Becca did as she was told.

The stethoscope was cold as the doctor moved it around on her belly. Becca held her breath, waiting, wishing the doctor would say something. Wishing Will would ask another question. She couldn’t bear to look at her husband. Was afraid of what she might see on his face.

“Here we go.” Dr. Anderson’s voice was as soft as always, but there was an odd note of satisfaction in it, too. “Who wants to listen first?”

Becca watched as Will picked up the second headpiece attached to the stethoscope, boosted her up with his free hand and placed the earpieces on her head.