“Thank you. Good to see you, James.”
My mother beams as he compliments me. She chose well with him.
“Time for stockings,” she declares, and she unhooks four from the mantel, handing a silver one to James, a red and white one to Aiden, and a cranberry knit one to me.
The stocking with the paw print on it is in her hands. “This one is for the dogs,” she says, then stage-whispers, “Ruby and Lorenzo won’t mind sharing a stocking, will they?”
“I doubt Ruby minds, but Lorenzo might be mad at you for days,” James remarks. My mom’s greyhound mix raises a disdainful snout in our direction then huffs as he plops his long nose on his soft, downy dog bed. Ruby, meanwhile, smiles shamelessly.
“Lorenzo is jealous. Be careful, James.”
“Oh, I am well aware of his jealousy.”
My mom points to my stocking. “Now, I know we’ll start working on your closet/nursery redo in the third trimester so you’re ready, but I’m not getting anything for the baby until he or she is born.” I nod, understanding. She doesn’t want to tempt fate. “So this is for you.”
I dip my hand inside and grab a wrapped envelope. I slide my thumb under it and take out a homemade gift certificate. I laugh. It’s for dog babysitting services. Redeemable anytime.
“I’ll practice my babysitting with your dog. Whenever you need a break, you call on me,” she says.
“I will.”
The lump returns once more as I think about someone else I want to call on.
That afternoon, I join the crew for a few hours. Delaney and her boyfriend, Tyler, invited me for Christmas cookies, hot chocolate, and hot toddies. Tyler’s best buddy, Simon, is hosting the soiree with his wife, Abby, at his swank East Side home.
I’ve gotten to know them a bit, but I haven’t seen them in a few months, so I’m surprised to find Abby has a little belly, too, though she’s clearly further along than me. With the amount of time I’ve spent studying pregnancy, and with Abby’s small stature—she’s a pipsqueak—I’m guessing she’s five and a half months.
I ask her if she is.
“Five months and three weeks.” Abby holds up her hot chocolate and clinks mugs to mine. “Very impressive pregnancy radar.”
I hold up my thumb and forefinger to show a sliver of space. “I’m only slightly obsessed about pregnancy. I’m eleven weeks.” She beams and congratulates me, and I add, “And I can’t wait to get out of the first trimester. I finally got my appetite back.”
Abby scans the room as if she’s making sure no kids are around then says, “That’s not the only appetite you get back in the second trimester.”
“Oh yeah?”
She runs a hand through her honey-colored curls. “Some days, it’s like all you want to do is jump on him and climb him like a tree.” She casts a glance at her handsome husband across the room.
I laugh. “Sounds like fun.”
“It’s like you’re walking around in this state of constant arousal. He’ll touch your shoulder when you’re getting out the pasta to make dinner, and you grab him, and he takes you right then and there. Who cares about the penne?”
“God, that sounds heavenly,” I say, and if I wasn’t missing Ryder before, I am now. A lot.
“And the orgasms,” she says quietly. “Better than any I’ve ever had before, and it’s not like they were mediocre to start with.”
I whimper. “I know what I’ll be doing tonight. A little online Christmas shopping for some new vibrators.”
“Get extra batteries, too. You’ll need them.”
When I hop on the Internet later, I do just that. I’m like a bear, stocking up for the winter.
A few weeks later, I take Frederick shopping for an iron. Then, I teach him how to use it. Later that night, he sends me a pizza as a thank-you gift. It’s delicious.
The next day I get an even better gift. At my thirteen-week appointment, the doctor brandishes an ultrasound wand and squirts some gel on my belly.
“Don’t tell me the sex,” I warn.
Dr. Robinson laughs. “You’ve only told me twenty times not to tell you the baby’s gender.”
“Yes, I’m what’s known as a repeater,” I say.
I lie on the table, my purple sweater tucked under my breasts, my jeans undone as she travels across my stomach, peering at the ultrasound screen.
She nods as if she’s pleased. The look on her face makes me relax even more. There’s nothing better than a satisfied doctor when you’re the patient. “We’re looking good,” she says, then she meets my eyes. “Do you want to hear your baby’s heartbeat?”