“Wing it?” Aunt Hilda questions with a baleful laugh. “Oh, honey, you’ve got to be prepared and stick to your guns. Don’t let the midwives convince you otherwise.”
Right, birthing plan. I should get right on that and research or something. God… I wish I had more tacos on my plate.
“Now, breast is best. Don’t let them tell you otherwise. You don’t want the nasty formula on the supermarket shelves these days. Lord knows what it does to the baby.”
“Uh huh.”
Note—breast is best.
Inside, I laugh to myself. Drew would find that hilarious.
“And you’ll want to get a good pediatrician. Martha was lucky enough to get the most sought-out one in all of the West Coast. Of course, Martha and Michael are well-known in the medical industry, so they know the right people.”
“Hilda!” Mom yells, stomping toward us. “Leave the poor girl alone.”
Mom is carrying a plate of food and hands it to me while scolding Hilda. “Drew is a doctor. He’ll take good care of Zoey and knows what’s best.”
“Well, actually he’s a surgeon now, he specializes in cardiology,” I add.
“Smart boy, that one,” Mom boasts.
Hilda, annoyed at Mom’s comment, purses her lips. The rivalry between Mom and Hilda has been going on since my fifth birthday when my cousin, Martha, got jealous of my cake shaped like a Care Bear that Mom had made. Martha threw a tantrum, knocking the cake over. Hilda was adamant she tripped, but Martha was always a troublemaker. Now she’s shacked up with some dentist who tries to hit on his patients, has three kids and some big house, plus a drinking problem. All of that information is according to my mom.
Hilda rambles to herself before leaving our circle and annoying her other sister, Ruth.
“Game time!”
I welcome the distraction and chance to sit down. My legs, heavy and swollen, begin to ache. My lower back is no better always aching in this one particular spot. Drew said that the babies might be in an odd position, but there’s still time for them to move.
Some old friends sit beside me, and we get to chatting about life, work, and babies until Mia takes charge of the room announcing the rules of the upcoming game.
The first game is trying to sniff some shit in a nappy and guess what candy bar it is. Given my love for all things chocolate this should be an easy one.
There are plenty of cringing faces, laughter, and incorrect guesses. A friend of mine from college, Sandra, guesses it right off the bat. She won a little prize which Mia gives out—a box of chocolates!
The second game is drinking water out of a baby bottle. The first one to finish wins. Mom is up with Hilda and my Aunt Ruth. Mom smashes the lead, and when she finishes, I believe her exact words are “Practice makes perfect” in which Ruth comments, “Lucky Bob.”
I shudder. I don’t want to know what goes on in my parents’ sex life. They shouldn’t even have a sex life. God… why, oh why, does the universe have to torture me.
When the games are over, Mom slices the cake while I take photos with everyone. It’s nice to spend the day surrounded by women, each offering their advice having had babies themselves. As we close in on the day, Mia requests I sit in the big chair and places the presents in front of me—mountains of gifts, plus that carriage which sits in the corner.
I open the first gift, pulling out something. “What’s this again?”
“It’s a diaper genie,” Aunt Ruth explains.
“So, it gets rid of the diapers? Thank God because that will be a nightmare.”
“No, sweetie, you put the diapers inside, but you still need to empty it out.”
“Oh.”
The word genie negates the actual having to do it yourself. I move onto the next lot of presents. So many onesies, tiny and adorable. We ooh and ahh over every piece, and something stirs inside of me—the feeling of excitement. Soon my babies will be dressed in these onesies, and I’ll be holding them in my arms.
The carriage was a gift from Mom and Dad. According to Dad, the safety ratings are on par to his Mustang.
Finally, I open Mia’s present.
Inside is a small box. I open the box to find matching Adidas Superstar sneakers in white with black stripes down the side.