Page 11 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
He understood the biology and the physiology of a pregnant woman’s body. Still, when it came to having hands-on experience with an actual pregnancy or understanding the intricacies of fetal development, he was as clueless as the dad chasing his half-naked kid around in circles.
He tried to block out the noise and steadied himself. He needed to stay calm. He might not know anything about growing a baby, but they could learn. They’d figure it out.
“We’ve got this, Georgie,” he said, drawing his thumb down her jawline as his heart fluttered, freaking fluttered in his chest.
How he loved this woman—his true north. If someone had asked him a year ago where he’d be at this time, never in a million years would he have thought it would be here, married to the love of his life, most likely preparing for a baby.
Not just a baby, their baby.
“Okay,” she answered on a shaky breath.
He held her misty gaze. “Messy bun girl, no matter what they tell us today, we’re in this together. You and me.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “You know the Emperor of Asshattery would be nothing without his Empress to call him out whenever he acted like—”
“A giant asshat,” she whispered lovingly, finishing his sentence as the corners of her lips curled into the hint of a grin.
“Ms. Jensen-Marks?”
They turned to see a stone-faced nurse, standing near the entrance to the pregnancy side of the office.
Georgie blew out a slow breath. “I’ll see you in a little bit,” she said, then nodded to the woman and followed her back.
He watched her go, wishing he could join her. There wasn’t much he could do. He could hold the pee cup for her. But it might look weird if they tag-teamed the urine sample portion of the visit. Like a warrior accepting defeat, he scanned the alien world of the ob-gyn waiting room, looking for the safest place to sit. Carefully, he navigated his way through a Lincoln Log minefield, passed a child banging his fist on a toy steering wheel’s horn as if he were training for a baby road rage competition, then took a seat across from a trio of men.
“Look, fellas! Fresh meat!” a red-cheeked, heavy-set man said with a wide grin.
Jordan stared at him. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t take offense,” the guy said, wrangling a toddler. “From the way you were talking to your wife, we could tell this is your first trip to the pregnancy rodeo.”
Jordan cleared his throat. “We’re not sure she’s pregnant. There’s a good chance I should be over there,” he replied, gesturing with his chin toward the quiet zone.
“Did she do the pee test at home?” a man with a shock of red hair asked.
“Yes,” he answered, wondering why the hell he didn’t tell this guy to mind his own business.
What was it with this place? Did everyone know everybody’s business around here? Was there some unspoken rule that once one was relegated to this side of the office, all privacy disappeared?
“And you got the plus or the two lines?” came the third man with a little girl sitting on his lap, sucking her thumb.
“Or did you get one of those fancy tests with a little computer screen that sayspregnant? Joanie loves those,” piped the dad, chasing a half-naked toddler.
“She used the kind with two lines,” he answered.
“And both lines showed up?” the redheaded man asked.
“Yeah.”
The jovial man slapped his leg. “She’s pregnant.”
Jordan looked from man to man before settling his gaze on the proclaimer of pregnancy. “Are you a doctor?”
“A dentist,” he answered with a shrug.
Jordan nodded, not sure if that counted.
“Do you want a natural birth or will you guys opt for an epidural?” the man chasing the child asked.
This twenty-questions was worse than listening to that kid bang out “Mary Had a Little Lamb” on the toy steering wheel’s horn.
