Chapter 13 Charlotte
Charlotte
“Are there always this many pregnant people here?” I ask, shifting nervously in my seat.
Josie is scrolling through social media. “I mean, it is a women’s clinic.”
“Yeah, but are there always this many pregnant people? And babies?” I ask.
Josie puts her phone down. “It’s going to be fine, Char. This is normal. All of it is very normal.”
I suppose she’s right.
We are at my OBGYN. I come here every year, just not for this reason.
Now that I am sitting here, waiting for the nurse to call my name, I am hyper-focused on all things baby.
Maybe it’s all in my head, or maybe it’s hormones, but I swear everything smells like baby.
Baby powder. Milk. Freaking Goldfish crackers.
And speaking of snacks. Am I going to have weird cravings? There’s literally a woman dipping Hot Cheetos in strawberry cream cheese.
“Are you doing okay?” Josie asks, and it yanks me back.
“Yeah, fine. Why do you ask?” I blurt out.
“Because you’re tapping your foot and wringing your hands. You look like you want to crawl under the chair,” she says.
“I’m not going to crawl under the chair,” I say. “You think they do virtual appointments? That’s a thing since COVID, isn’t it?”
Josie leans into me and whispers. “I don’t think they can examine your vagina via Zoom.”
“Dang,” I say, and Josie reaches over to grab my hand. “It’s going to be fine. You’re doing great. It’s like jumping into a cold pool. Once you’re in the water and past the shock, it won’t be so bad.”
“I’m a terrible swimmer,” I mumble. “I sink like a rock.”
“Charlotte Richards?” the nurse calls.
“Oh God, is it too late to crawl under the chair? Think she’ll see me? Distract her!” I whisper, but Josie just smiles and stands up, raising her hand like the school is taking roll call and she’s a straight-A student.
“Present!”
The nice thing about leaving the waiting room is it gets me away from all the women who look like they’re going to pop. The downside is that the room feels intimidating with the stirrups, overhead lighting, and screens.
“First time mother?” the nurse asks with a soft smile.
“How can you tell?” I mutter and she laughs.
“Because you look like you’re taking inventory of all the emergency exits.”
“You caught that?” I ask.
“Honey, I’ve been an OB nurse for twenty-seven years. I catch everything. Except pregnancy. That’s not contagious, though some of these women make it seem addictive. One of my patients has six and counting.”
“Yeah, no, I just have the one,” I say.
“Well, why don’t we get a look at that little one,” she smiles. I’m glad one of us is smiling.
The routine check-up doesn’t feel normal.
It’s a glorified examination of my insides that leaves me uncomfortable and invaded.
As I lay on the table in a less compromising position, the attention shifts to my midsection, which is still flat.
So flat and normal that I almost wonder if those pharmacy sticks were all playing a trick on me.
The OB comes in and runs through a bunch of mom-related questions that sound foreign to me. My automated answers in return feel just as foreign.
“Alright, let’s take a look,” she says, lathering my stomach in jelly that is freezing before flipping the lights off. “This is the fun part,” she says.
“Yay,” Josie responds from the chair beside the bed.
I’m not exactly in a yay mood myself, but something happens to me when the black and white lava lamp of figurations bubbles across the screen.
I don’t know what I am looking at. I’ve never tried to decipher ultrasound pictures of a uterus before.
When she pauses the wand and the screen shows a dark bubble with a white kidney bean shape in the middle, my heart shifts in my chest. It doesn’t stop.
It doesn’t drop. It feels like it’s swelling, filling my chest like a balloon, warm and consuming.
“Is that it?” Josie asks. “Is that the baby?”
“That’s the baby,” the OB smiles, and my mouth drops open.
“The baby?” I ask, barely above a whisper.
“Yes, ma’am,” the OB says.
After that, Josie asks more questions, and the OB answers them as well as filling me in on measurements and timeline. I can’t really hear what she’s saying. It’s like they’re underwater. My head is spinning because this can’t be real. None of this can possibly be real.
Suddenly, the machine makes a whooshing, galloping sound.
“What’s that?” Josie asks.
“That…is the baby’s heartbeat.”
Whomp, whomp, whomp, whomp…
“Oh my gosh,” Josie says with a giddy laugh. “That’s amazing. Charlotte, isn’t that amazing?” she asks.
I am still lost in the sound and the sight and the feeling of what’s happening. How did this happen? How did I get here? I mean, I know how I got here, but…
“Are you feeling alright?” the OB asks.
“Yeah, I just…” I stop, covering my face with my hands. Beads of perspiration swell at my temples. “This is a lot.”
“I understand,” she says, clicking a button and then shutting the machine off. “Unplanned pregnancy can be intimidating.”
You can say that again.
“But most people warm up to it. Especially when you can feel the baby. You’ll connect with it. For now, here’s this,” she says, handing me what appears to be a black-and-white photo from the ultrasound.
“It’s a photo of your baby, Charlotte!” Josie says, but I shove it in my purse and her words echo in my head.
Your baby. Your baby.
God help me…