Page 8 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
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Jordan
“This is it,” Georgie said, pointing to a pair of frosted glass doors.
Jordan glanced down the beige hallway, taking in the nondescript interior of the medical building. It seemed as good as any other—not that he frequented ob-gyn offices. In fact, this constituted his first visit.
But he wasn’t in the dark when it came to human reproduction.
Thanks to majoring in kinesiology, he understood not only the mechanics of human movement but had in-depth training in anatomy and nutrition. As a CrossFit trainer, he’d maintained his professional knowledge on the subject with numerous continuing education classes. Not to mention, all the research he’d done himself, staying up-to-date with the latest exercise science findings and crafting fitness routines for people of all ability levels.
He knew bodies.
Men’s bodies.
Women’s bodies.
And even pregnant women’s bodies. His coursework demanded it. Movement was a critical element in pregnancy health. Moderate exercise reduced the risk of delivering a low birth weight baby. It improved the mother’s mood, increased her energy, aided in sleep, and could reduce aches and pains. The list went on and on, and as a fitness professional, he was obligated to remain informed.
After consulting with pregnant clients and collecting the necessary medical information, he could whip up a prenatal workout plan in no time flat.
But today wasn’t a casual appointment to set up a fitness regimen for just anyone.
He was ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure this appointment would confirm what had hit him like a Mack truck in Fiji.
His pineapple-loving sex machine of a wife was most likely with child.
When did it happen? Hell if he knew!
They had less than a three-week window between the date he proposed in late September and their wedding on the third Saturday in October. Their wham, bam, thank you, ma’am light-speed of an engagement ebbed and flowed with emotional highs and lows that had put their relationship to the test.
But that didn’t mean they’d scrimped on the hanky-panky.
The moment he’d put together all the signs and realized the love of his life could be carrying actual life, he’d gone into health researcher mode, counting up all the times they’d been intimate since his wife’s last period in September.
Yeah, her period! He wasn’t one of those boyfriends, now, a husband, who got embarrassed by all that. In his opinion, it was a badge of honor. He had no qualms standing in line at the market with a box of jumbo organic cotton tampons in one hand and a couple of tubes of vegan chocolate chip cookie dough in the other.
During that short window of time, their sexcapades sessions had been just as crazy as everything else.
They’d done it in the car, in a tent, and in the wilderness, accidentally, in front of an alpaca—something he’d never recommend. If they ever decided to knock boots in the great outdoors again, he’d be doing a broad alpaca perimeter sweep first. That’s for damn sure!
And it wasn’t like they weren’t careful.
Georgie was on the pill. But throughout that handful of weeks, and especially during their stint at a godforsaken wilderness boot camp, he’d had no idea if she’d taken it. And it wasn’t like he was in the right headspace to remind her. To say things had gone sideways during that time, was the understatement of the century.
Not only had they gone sideways, but they’d also gone upside down, inside out, outside in, and any other twisted, discombobulated comparison one could imagine. All he could do was be grateful they’d made it out in one piece as husband and wife.
Georgie squeezed his hand. “We need to go inside. I don’t remember ever seeing doctors examining patients in the hallway.”
He gazed down at his beautiful wife. Tendrils of her chestnut-colored hair framed her face. She met his gaze with her blue-green eyes. The same eyes that had seared into his soul from the first awkward moment their lives collided.
She smiled up at him, trying to keep it light. But he knew his Georgiana. He’d caught glimpses of her through the half-closed bedroom door while she was getting ready for the appointment. It had taken her four tries to twist her hair into her signature messy bun. Then there were the wardrobe changes. She’d gone from jeans to leggings to yoga pants, to some strange one-piece contraption of pants already attached to the shirt. She’d switched outfits at Mach speed before pausing in front of the mirror and pressing a trembling hand to her abdomen.
She was worried—and so was he. They hadn’t discussed having children. Their lives revolved around each other, their blog, and their businesses.
Where did a baby fit into all that? He didn’t have the foggiest notion.
One thing he did know, however, was that biology didn’t care about your plans.
