I feel lazy watching him doing all the hard work while I just basically hang out with Sugar and Hot Lips in the pasture or spend long hours watching him continue his training with Samson—which no longer seems boring.
I know, it shocked the hell out of me, too. But I keep wandering over to the front training paddock. The transformation of Samson is truly an amazing thing to behold. Over the past few days, Xavier has taken to tying a dark handkerchief over Samson’s eyes. His eyes. The horse is blinded by the handkerchief but he still confidently follows Xavier’s lead. Even when Xavier leads him out of the paddock and out into the unfamiliar field beyond.
Naturally, Xavier makes me go back to the stable and watch from afar for this part, but still, even as I squint, I can see that the horse never makes a misstep or falters under Xavier’s confident leadership.
Which makes me wonder more and more about the small tidbit of information he gave me the day we found out about the pregnancy.
Men under my command made a mistake that cost a lot of people their lives.
I’ve been dying to ask him more about it.
But with as tense as he’s been about the pregnancy, I can never seem to find a good time to bring it up. The only time he relaxes is with the horses. Even at night with his arm wrapped protectively around my stomach, he seems to radiate tension.
Twice I’ve had to wake him from nightmares. Both times I asked him if he wanted to talk about it. He simply grabbed me close and closed his eyes again, murmuring about me needing sleep.
The truth is, we’re both trying to act like everything’s all right, but I know we’re each nervous about the doctor’s visit. Sometimes over the past few weeks, I’ve caught Xavier pensive, face dark as he stares out across the pastures. It scares me how far away he seems, lost in some dark place. Whenever I call his name or get his attention, he pretends like everything’s fine and he wasn’t just a million miles away.
I’m glad when Dr. Winthrop arrives an hour earlier than expected, right after I manage to get down a few bites of toast—a feat for me. Morning sickness has just started being a bitch the last week. One morning I sat up in bed and immediately had to run to the toilet.
Apparently, it’s better if you eat a couple saltines before you even sit up. We’ve been trying that. I still feel like throwing up whatever I ate the night before, but sometimes I can manage to keep it down.
And calling it morning sickness is a total joke.
It’s all day sickness. I feel awful all the time.
I guess it does ease up a little bit at night. Which means Xavier tries to stuff me full of all the food he can manage to get down my gullet because he’s constantly worried about me and the baby not getting enough nutrition. Explaining to him that the baby is the size of a pea doesn’t seem to matter.
Xavier sets down the piece of toast he’s feeding me when the doorbell rings. He’s taken to feeding me my breakfast in bed each morning. He figures if a few crackers can help settle my stomach, why not just keep me in bed for the whole meal? And glaring at me when I only manage the few bites I can choke down.
His constant refrain is, “Just one bite of the eggs? Not even for our son or daughter?”
Guilt trips are his new favorite manipulation tactic and he uses them relentlessly to get his way. If I thought being pregnant would earn me some leniency from his controlling tendencies, ha! No, it’s just won me Xavier 2.0.
He loves barking orders at me and while I still get the nice long showers at night, there are no longer any of the perks. Just a quick wash and off to bed now. It’s starting to get insufferable.
Sometimes I wonder if I matter to him at all anymore or if I was always just a vehicle to get him what he really wanted—a kid to carry on his name and his genes.
Part of me thinks: duh, that’s obviously all he wants, it’s the whole reason he brought you here.
But another, maybe deluded, part objects: no! We’ve built something. There really is an us. He constantly refers to the baby as our son or daughter. Not just the baby. Surely that means he envisions me in the picture. Right?
Right???
Because even though I swore I never wanted to be a mother, now that it’s a reality, I can’t imagine anything different.
Me. Xavier. This baby. Our baby and the little family I keep envisioning every time I close my eyes. But what if I’m deluding myself? Fear about it all is almost enough to keep me up at night—except I’m constantly exhausted so I always drop off as soon as my head hits the pillow.
Dr. Winthrop knocks briefly on the door and then steps through. She has the large, hard-backed, black suitcase with her again, and today she immediately sets it on the bed and opens it.
Oh. The whole thing is a machine—a portable ultrasound machine, I imagine. The top half of the case holds a monitor and the bottom a keyboard and what I assume is the rest of the machine. Along with a wand attached by a long wire that the doctor begins to uncoil.
She looks up at Xavier as she pulls out a cord from the other side. “Do you have somewhere I might plug in?”
Xavier hurries to drag the cord to a plug near the bed and soon the machine is beeping to life and the doc is sticking what looks like a condom over the wand and then up my hoo haa it goes.
She pokes it this way.
Then that way.