24. Hunter
Chapter twenty-four
Hunter
I’ve been amping up the affection with Ellie—to excellent results—but today is our family’s gingerbread house competition. Which means I basically have unfettered access to be as affectionate with Ellie as possible. It makes me wonder if I can find a way to kiss her …
As I daydream about Ellie’s lips on mine, we’re driving to another one of Ellie’s doctor’s appointments.
Now that she’s getting closer to her due date, it seems like she has an appointment every five seconds, along with the birthing classes at the hospital.
Last week, we even went to a lactation class where we practiced various positions to nurse a baby in.
Yes, we. All the dads were required to do it, too.
The instructor kept correcting my hold on the fake baby, as if I was really at risk for nursing Sweetpea wrong.
It would have been extremely frustrating, but Ellie was so cute trying not to laugh.
Still, compared to that, all these doctor’s appointments are a breeze.
Not that I mind, it’s cool to hear the baby’s heartbeat, and make sure Ellie’s doing okay. Every appointment, both Ellie and I have a list of questions and concerns for the doctor ranging from basics like “what should we bring to the hospital for the delivery?” to “do babies dream?”
Today, Dr. Greene frowns at the computer screen when she gets into the room. “What is it, doc?” I ask. I try to figure out what incurable illness Ellie could’ve caught between last week’s visit and today. “Is everything okay?”
The doctor turns and gives me a motherly smile.
“It’s all alright, Dad,” she says. That’s another weird thing: we’ve ceased to have names.
Ellie is addressed as “mom” and I’m addressed as “dad”, as if our identity has officially been replaced by the fact that we are about to become parents.
It was jarring the first few times it happened—I didn’t know if I should correct the doctor or not—but Ellie didn’t correct her either and now I’m used to it.
I’m Dad.
“I just want to measure the baby and make sure we’re progressing the way we need to.
” And then she proceeds to pull out a measuring tape.
As I’m gaping at her, trying to figure out if she thinks she can reach into Ellie’s, ahem, undercarriage and measure Sweetpea …
she wraps the tape vertically over Ellie’s belly.
She looks at the line on the measuring tape and says, “You’re almost thirty-nine weeks, but you’re measuring at thirty-seven.”
“What does that mean?” Ellie asks before I can get the same words out.
“Probably nothing, but it might be a good idea to increase your calories for the next week, to make sure that the baby is growing properly. And I’ll have you scheduled for an ultrasound to check.”
We ask the good doctor approximately one thousand more questions and before I know it, we’re on our way out—as if we’re supposed to just function normally when the baby could not be growing at the speed it needs to be.
Ellie’s quiet as we get in the truck and drive toward home. She rubs her hands over her belly, as if trying to soothe both herself and the baby while she stares out the window.
“What do you want to eat for lunch?” I ask.
I’ll admit, I’m a fix-it kind of guy. And this is the only concrete solution she gave us for making sure the baby grows the way she needs to, so that’s what we’re going to do.
I’ve mentally crowned myself the king of calorie-pushing. And Ellie is my queen.
As always.
She shrugs. “I don’t really feel like eating.”
I press on the brake a little too hard, tossing both of us forward in our seats.
I throw the truck into park in the middle of the parking lot.
“Ellie James. You are the newly-minted Queen of Calorie Consumption.” Her lips quirk ever so slightly at this.
“Look, I don’t care if you’re not hungry, it’s your full-time job right now to eat as much as humanly possible.
So, tell me, I’ll get you anything you feel like eating, what do you want? ”
“Anything?”
I nod emphatically. “Anything.”
She sighs, as if I just told her that we’re going to the dentist to get her teeth pulled, rather than her restaurant of choice.
“I guess I could eat some Chick-fil-A?” she says it sheepishly, because we don’t have a Chick-fil-A in Starlight Valley and we’ll have to drive a ways to get to one. But what my queen wants, my queen gets.
I give a quick nod and put the truck back in drive.
Forty-five minutes later, we pull up to the closest Chick-fil-A.
I roll down my window when we reach a worker whose smile is way too huge for the fact that they’re standing outside in the freezing cold about to take my order.
“What can I get you?” the girl says. I shoot a look at Ellie and then ask, “What’s the most calorically dense thing you have on the menu? ”
Ellie ends up eating a Chick-fil-A sandwich, a large fry, and a cookies-and-cream milkshake. By the time we get to the house, Ellie’s groaning. “I’m so full, I might sink into the earth when I get out of the truck.”
“Consider this your new state of being.” I laugh. “I promise I’ll pull you out if you get stuck.”
She groans again and I laugh as I run around the cab to help my wife.