"Hold still, Mrs. Patrick," Dr. Roth says gently. She's spreading that damn goo all over my stomach again. The thing is that even after she cleans it off, I can still feel it on there, like a film that won't go away.
"Yeah, quit squirming, pretty girl," Brad shoots me the eye. He's standing beside me, holding my hand. We're having an ultrasound today that should tell us if we're having a Margot or a Madison—Madison being a boy. My name choices, not his.
"It's cold," I whine and bat my eyes at him, like there's something he can do. He rolls his eyes.
"Suck it up, you baby," he smirks down at me and my pouting face. After we had our big 'I love you' moment, I thought I'd have more sway with him. I thought maybe batting my eyes would be the golden ticket to getting my way. In reality, I don't have any more sway than I did before. I still have a lot, but I'd been hoping for more. Lindsay tells me that I'm power hungry.
Dr. Roth takes the wand from the ultrasound machine and holds it inches above my belly. "Are we ready to find out what we're having?"
"Hell yes," Brad grins. We're at our sixteen-week check-up. During the last ultrasound we couldn't tell the baby's sex and there was some initial concern about the amount of weight I've put on. Apparently, at sixteen weeks, my body has managed to gain all I'm supposed to gain for the entire duration of this pregnancy. Brad tried to comfort me by assuring me that it was our son's boy parts that are causing the excessive weight gain. He's assuming we're having a boy—either that, he says, or we're having one chubby girl. He's a jackass, but he's my jackass.
Dr. Roth brings the wand down to my belly and starts to move it around. We can hear the baby's heart beating. It sounds really fast, but Dr. Roth says that it's normal.
The image on the screen is a little fuzzy, making it difficult to see my baby. Despite the weight gain, despite the cold goo on my belly, despite everything, this is my baby and he or she is the reason we're here. All I want is to see my baby.
"This," Dr. Roth points to a bean-shaped object, "is your baby." I stare at it for what feels like several minutes. Brad is silent. The only reason I know he's still in the room is because he's holding my hand. I can't take my eyes off the screen.
The little bean moves and the whole screen looks like it's sloshing around. I blink a few times and squint at the screen. Now I'm seeing two beans. My gut reaction is that I've got a deformed baby and it has two heads. I automatically begin to worry about my baby being picked on by the kids who only have one head and I resolve to tell my baby that he or she… or them… are just so special because they have two heads. And you know what they say about that: two heads are better than one.
"My baby has two heads!" I point at the screen and cry out. Just because I've decided to make sure my two-headed baby is loved beyond comprehension doesn't mean the idea of raising a two-headed baby doesn't scare the crap out of me. At least my two-headed baby's daddy carries a gun. That ought to resolve some of the teasing.
"Mrs. Patrick, please calm down," Dr. Roth smiles. She reminds me that there are risks associated with this pregnancy for me as well. She's all calm and collected like two-headed babies are a dime a dozen. Bitch. "You do see two heads, but look at this," she says. I follow her finger as it traces a line on the screen I can hardly distinguish. There's definitely two beans.
"Two heart beats, two tiny, growing little bodies," she concludes and stares at us like we're supposed to finish that for her. My brain is, unfortunately, still stuck on the whole two-headed baby thing.
"Two?" Brad asks and I'm snapped out of my fantasies of clothes shopping for my extra special child and the difficulties such a task would include. I don't think Sears carries clothing for two-headed babies.
"Two," Dr. Roth nods and smiles. Two?
Holy shit.
Two.
"So, my baby doesn't have two heads?" I ask in disbelief. Brad laughs and kisses my forehead. Twins run in both of our families, so this wasn’t an impossibility. We spend a few moments letting that sink in. I'm not worried about two. Not at all. I'm just happy to have a baby at all. Having two is a bonus.
"This is fucking awesome," Brad says, and then apologizes to Dr. Roth. He’s been working on his language in preparation for the baby. Babies.
He's still grinning but there's a bit of water in his eyes. "Can we tell what they are?" Always the eloquent one.
"Well, this one," Dr. Roth continues to move her finger across the screen, "is a boy."
Brad cheers loudly. I stare up at him because as goofy and ridiculous as he is, I can't wait to have a little boy running around just like him. But God help me, Brad has a big head. I hope our baby boy's head is a little smaller at birth or my vagina is in serious trouble.