Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84370 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84370 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“Let’s go out the back. I didn’t tell my sisters.”
“Are we going to tell people?” I ask her, as I push the door open for us, leading her to the truck.
“Let’s see what the doctor says. There’s a part of me that wants to wait. They say twelve weeks, and I don’t know how far along I am yet. I think they’ll do bloodwork today to confirm.”
“We know when it happened. I remember that day vividly,” I tell her.
She blushes. “I know, but let’s just take it one step at a time.”
“You got it, babe.” I kiss her before opening the truck door and making sure she’s buckled in. I’m ready for whatever life tosses at us, as long as at the end of every day, this woman is sleeping in my arms.
Ellison is sitting on the exam table in her white gown, and her legs are bouncing. The rough paper of the gown makes a swishing sound in the room with each jostle of her legs. I’m sitting, so I stand and go to her, offering her my hand, and she instantly calms.
“Why are you so nervous?”
“What if the tests we took were wrong?”
“Then we keep trying.”
“What if something’s wrong?”
“Then we face it together.” Before she has a chance to ask another hypothetical question, her doctor, Dr. Ormes, steps into the room. She’s around our age, and she’s smiling, and I can feel the tension drain from Ellison’s body.
“Well, looks like congratulations are in order. You’re pregnant.”
“Really?” Ellison whispers.
Dr. Ormes smiles. “Really. I’d like to do an ultrasound today, if that’s all right with you. I know you said you’re pretty certain of the time of conception, but this will give us a clear picture.”
“Can we tell the gender?” I ask.
“Depends on how far along Ellison is. If your calculations are correct, it will still be too early to tell.”
I look down at Ellison to find her already looking at me. I bend and peck her lips with a kiss. “We get to see our baby,” I say, the emotions of the moment lodging in my throat.
Dr. Ormes goes on to say that in the early weeks of pregnancy, a transvaginal ultrasound is required, which sounds horrific for Ellison to endure, and for me to watch, but it’s what our baby needs, and it will give the doctor a better view, or that’s what she says. I have no idea what we’re about to get into. The ultrasound tech comes in, and Dr. Ormes steps out to see another patient, telling us to schedule an appointment in four weeks and to call if we have any questions or concerns.
Thirty minutes later, we’re still parked in the same spot, the engine running, the hum of the air conditioning filling the silence of the cab. I clutch the strip of ultrasound images in my hands. I can’t stop looking at them. It’s as if staring harder will make them tell me something new. We’re nine weeks along. Mom and baby are healthy.
Healthy.
The word echoes in my head like a heartbeat.
“Cope,” Ellison says breathily from her spot in the passenger seat. Her voice wavers, but her tone is full of wonder. “This is really happening.” She swallows hard, and her eyes glisten. “We’re really having a baby.”
I try to speak, to say something, anything, but everything I can think of feels inadequate, like they’re too small to carry everything swelling inside me.
Joy.
Fear.
Awe.
Responsibility.
It’s all there, mingling together until it presses so heavily in my chest, I can barely breathe. We’re having a baby.
Reaching over the console, I hold her hand tightly. She squeezes back, and I feel the warmth of her skin and the steady pulse of life beneath my fingers. For a moment, the world shrinks to this truck, this quiet moment, this tiny, impossible life growing inside her.
All those years ago, this was our dream. We were young and full of hope, and all we knew for certain was that we loved each other and always would.
“I love you, Ells. I love our baby,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
She looks at me, tears still glistening in her eyes, but there’s a lightness there, too, a quiet joy that makes my heart ache. “I love our family,” she says softly, her fingers squeezing mine before she presses our joined hands to her belly, over the life we created together.
For a moment, nothing else exists. No past mistakes, no fears about the future, no noise from the world outside. Just us. Just this fragile, perfect beginning. I breathe it in, trying to memorize every detail. The curve of her smile, the sound of her voice, the steady rhythm of her pulse through her hand. Even the sounds of the city outside of this truck. I never want to forget a single moment.
Life isn’t about being ready. Life is about showing up. And I’m here. We’re here. And somehow, against all odds, we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.