Page 20 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
She wanted to laugh, but her thoughts morphed into a frenzied tornado of worry, excitement, and doubt, draining the humor right out of her.
How would they grow their brand, manage their businesses, and have a baby?
“Let’s take a look. The baby should have a heartbeat by now,” Dr. Beaver said, then patted the exam table.
In a zombie-state, she rose to her feet, settled herself on the exam table, and covered her bottom half with the papery towel as the doctor rolled over the portable ultrasound.
“This happens with me in here?” Jordan asked, looking in horror as she planted her heels in the stirrups.
“Absolutely,” the doctor answered, then removed the vaginal probe from the stand and beckoned him over with it.
“What in God’s name is that?” her husband exclaimed.
“A transducer. But I like to think of it as a magic wand,” Dr. Beaver said, wielding the device like a handsome gynecological wizard, to which Hermione gave a thumbs-up.
“Why a magic wand?” Jordan asked.
“Because this is how we get to see your baby.”
“Where’s the outside thing that goes on the stomach—like the ones they use on TV?” Jordan pressed.
“We’ll use that when Georgiana’s further along.”
Her husband eyed the transducer warily. “You’re going to put that wand inside my wife?”
Dr. Beaver flashed his TV doctor smile. “That’s where the magic happens!”
She reached out, and Jordan came to stand beside her and took her hand. She needed this whole wizard and wand talk to be over. Would she ever be able to reread theHarry Potter Serieswithout thinking of that giant medical dildo?
Her husband’s features grew pensive as he observed the probe, then turned to her. “You should be good with that size wand. Especially after the honeymoon and all the—”
She gave his hand a sharp squeeze. “Jordan, everyone here knows we’ve done it. We don’t need to rehash the antics of our honeymoon.”
“Don’t you worry about me! Sex machines are my bread and butter,” the doctor chimed.
That’s certainly not something one would expect to hear from a doctor, but she was having that kind of day. She leaned onto the crinkly paper lining the exam table.
Dr. Beaver held up the probe, then busted open a condom and rolled it down the shaft.
“What the hell is that for?” Jordan exclaimed like a nun who accidentally sauntered into a whore house—or an ob-gyn exam room.
“It’s for your wife’s protection. This fellow’s been around,” Dr. Beaver added, glopping a dollop of lubricant on top of the device.
This wasn’t her idea of fun either, but he wasn’t the one about to have Mr.Been Aroundshoved where the sun don’t shine.
“Jordan, it’ll be all right, and it’s not like Dr. Beaver is about to stick that thing inside you.”
“Jesus! I should hope not!” He glanced down at her. “Sorry, babe, I thought I knew about pregnancy, but this is all blowing my mind.”
“Aren’t you a CrossFit trainer?” the obstetrician asked, wheeling himself between her legs on the little doctor stool.
“Yeah, and my degree is in kinesiology. I learned how to advise women on how to exercise safely during pregnancy, but they never whipped out a giant vagina magic wand when I was in college.”
“Looks like you missed out!” the doctor replied with a made-for-TV laugh.
Should she ask to see his credentials?
“Do you have children of your own, Dr. Beaver?” she asked instead.
