Rebel Soul

“Do you recall the first day of your last period?” Stacia tells her she isn’t sure. “No worries, the ultrasound tech will get you sorted there. Really quickly, I’m going to check your vitals as well as your iron.”

The nurse quickly works her up before moving onto questions about her family history, and mine. Once she’s finished, the nurse escorts us back to a small, darkened room. “You can go ahead and get changed. Remove everything and cover yourself with this,” she says to Stacia, opening a cabinet and passing her a folded gown, “and then have a seat on the exam table. Your technician will be here in just a few.”

Stacia steps into the bathroom, and I take a seat in the chair next to the table. She returns wrapped in a standard hospital gown, looking nervous and unsure as she moves through the room to the table.

She climbs up onto it, and no sooner than she’s situated, the ultrasound tech walks in. “Hello, there. I’m Rachel.”

Stacia introduces the both of us and then it’s go time.

“Great, if you’ll just scoot to the end of the table, lean back and place your feet in the stirrups, we’ll take a look.”

She clicks around on her computer before snapping on a pair of gloves and grabbing a baton-looking thing. She sheaths it in what appears to be a huge condom, squirts some jelly-ish stuff onto it, and rolls her stool over to the end of the exam table.

“Typically, the first ultrasound is transvaginal, simply because it provides a more in-depth view of the uterus, ovaries, tubes, and cervix. You may feel a little discomfort, but I assure you, it cannot hurt the baby.”

She drapes an additional sheet over Stacia and directs her to spread her legs and inserts the wand.

Stacia’s brow creases, and I reach out and take her hand in mine.

As the tech moves the wand around, white blurs fill the black monitor screen, until finally she finds what she’s looking for. “See that?” She points out a little white blob. “That’s your baby. And see that flutter right there? That’s the heartbeat.” She clicks around a little more, and suddenly, a swooshing sound fills the room.

“What’s that?” Stacia asks, her voice hoarse.

Rachel smiles. “That…is your baby’s heartbeat.”

I look from the screen to my girl; she’s openly crying. I’m not even going to lie; I have tears in my eyes, too. “I think that’s my new favorite sound,” I confess.

“Me, too,” Stacia agrees. “Oh, God, me, too.”

“If you want, you can record the sound with your phone so you can listen to it later.”

I whip my phone out of my pocket so quickly, I’d undoubtedly put Wyatt Earp to shame in a fast draw. Rachel plays the sound again, and I record it, knowing full and well we’re both going to listen to it obsessively. As I go to put it away, I see I’m up to four missed calls from Dad.

“All right, I’m just going to take a few measurements to determine your due date.”

She does her thing while Stacia and I watch along, enraptured even though we don’t have a clue what any of the numbers and letters on the screen mean.

“It looks like you’re about…eleven weeks along, which puts you due in.” She proceeds to rattle off a date, leaving both Stacia and I shell-shocked.

“Are…are you sure?” Stacia asks, worrying the gown between her fingers.

“That’s what the measurements say. Why do you ask?”

“Holy shit!” I blurt out. “Told you we got it on the first try!”

Stacia hides her face behind her hands and Rachel laughs. “You can go and get dressed. I’ll print y’all some pictures out while you do.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Stacia

In the small bathroom, my tears flow unchecked. Despite the fatigue, the weird food stuff, the sore breasts, and ten million bathroom trips a day, this hasn’t felt real.

But now…now I have undeniable and irrefutable proof of the life growing inside of me.

I strip out of the gown and smooth my palms over my minuscule bump. According to the pregnancy book West ordered, our baby is about the size of a lime, which is crazy to me. How in just eleven short weeks, something that started off as a cluster of cells no bigger than a vanilla bean seed is now the size of a small citrus fruit, and that in around six months, it’ll be a fully-formed person.

The miracle of life is mind-blowing.

I give my belly one last caress before slipping my panties, bra, dress, and sandals back on. As I step into the room, I’m expecting West to meet me with a tearful yet happy smile. Instead, he’s scowling while his fingers fly over his phone screen. “Are you okay?” I ask, grabbing his attention.

He huffs out an annoyed breath. “It’s just my dad.”

“What about him?”