Page 21 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
“I do. A boy and a girl,” he answered, donning a headlamp and turning on the vagina illumination light.
Okay, he was a father. He could sympathize.
“Did your wife allow you to deliver them?”
Dr. Beaver folded back the paper towel cover-up. “No, my husband and I adopted our children.”
“Oh! I assumed…” she trailed off, feeling like an asshat.
“No worries! The only vaginas I see are the ones at work. And, Georgiana?”
“Yes?”
“Yours looks great,” he answered, from between her thighs.
Again, not something one would expect your baby doctor to throw out casually, but before she could think of how to possibly respond, a cold tap to her lady area said this magical baby-finding probe session was a go.
“Watch the screen. I’m going to look around, take some measurements, then snap a few pictures,” the doctor said, beginning the ultrasound.
“Does it hurt?” Jordan whispered.
She shook her head. “It’s just weird.”
“You’re telling me,” he said under his breath.
“You didn’t expect to watch a doctor stick a giant medical magic wand in your wife this morning?” she teased—which was a pretty big accomplishment in her situation. Humor, while being probed, did not come easy.
“That’s some cervix you’ve got there!” the doctor remarked.
“Um…thank you?” she answered. Dr. Rosenstein had never complimented her lady parts, and she wasn’t quite sure how to respond.
“I’ve never seen Georgie’s cervix, but everything else down there is pretty great and up to code,” Jordan replied, then cringed. “Sorry, words are coming out of my mouth, but they seem to be bypassing my brain.”
She smiled up at him and squeezed his hand. At least, he was as nervous as she was. Between the magical probe and up to code vagina, today was going down as not only the day she learned she and Jordan would be parents, but the day she realized she didn’t have a clue about any of it. She stared at a framed picture hanging on the wall of a mother and baby in a state of maternal bliss.
That woman looked like she had it all under control.
Would she be able to do it?
“How about some music?” the doctor asked, cutting into her thoughts.
“Seems like a good time for some Michael Bolton,” Jordan answered, perking up. “I can pull it up on my phone.”
“That’s a great call,” she agreed.
There was nothing like his soothing voice and moving ballads. The man was a lyrical genius.
“Not that kind of music,” the doctor said with a chuckle, then pushed a button.
A quick whooshing sound engulfed the room.
“Techno?” Jordan asked the man, currently directing a probe in her lady parts.
“No, that would be your baby’s heartbeat.”
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.
Each punctuated splash of sound washed over her.
