Chapter 17
At our second ultrasound with Dr. Laura Fillia, my ob-gyn, I watch the fluttering heartbeat on the screen. Please keep going, please keep going, please keep going, I think. Dr. Fillia, who knows my history, is quick to tell us everything looks “perfect—right on track, Mom and Dad.”
Wyatt takes a clip of the video where the fetus appears to be waving, adds a text tag that reads, “Hi, Mommy!,” and sends it to me later with a simple Love You, We’ve Got This message.
I feel the warmest of glows for my husband and our little bundle.
That afternoon I disclose the pregnancy to GIA’s HR department, my colleagues, and Cecil.
Luckily the lab already has high-level health-and-safety procedures in place, so nothing has to change in terms of the conservation.
Wyatt’s not only excited but also impatient for me to register for MotherWise. He keeps referencing Nick’s comments about the improved benefits and perks. I try, and fail, to find a way to explain my anxiety about making that call. Superstition trumps logic, it seems.
“You’ll have on-call, top-of-the-line medical care at your fingertips, twenty-four seven, Tilly,” he says. I’m grateful he’s spared me from having to speak the worry out loud. “And don’t forget the NourishBoxes, which Nick said are worth hundreds of dollars a month.”
Still, I’m not ready. “Give me another week,” I tell him. “Then I’ll register. Promise.”
“Okay, one more week,” Wyatt replies. I appreciate his patience with me, and tell him so.
—
“How are you feeling?” I ask Kat as we walk down York Street, which is shaded by both the oak trees and today’s cloud cover.
I miss the changing seasons back home. When the air begins to crisp and the maples are crowned with vibrant red, orange, and yellow leaves.
Here in Savannah it’s still summertime warm this time of year, everything green and lush.
“Decent,” Kat replies, holding a decaffeinated iced tea in one hand and a bright red apple in the other. Her stroller is on hands-free mode, seven-month-old Rachael napping as we walk. “As long as I keep food in my stomach, I’m okay.” She bites into the apple, the crunch of it audible.
I was right to wonder at my birthday dinner if she and Nick had news. She’d waited a few days to tell me, not wanting to shift focus away from my celebration. Our due dates are only one week apart.
“Same here.” I had a snack not long before our walk. “I’ve been craving popcorn. The old movie theater kind, dripping with fake butter. What’s funny is that I never liked movie theater popcorn.”
“Bet you need sodium.” Kat sips her iced tea, the stroller continuing its leisurely pace mere inches ahead of us.
“I had a wicked craving for bananas yesterday, and like five minutes later my watch sent me a low-potassium alert. Our bodies know what we need—just have to listen to them. That, and pay attention to this.” She raises her arm, showing her watch.
We turn up Abercorn and walk past the Owens-Thomas House, impressive in stature, the green shutters the identical shade from when I first visited Savannah with Wyatt.
The old colonial mansion was featured on our ghost tour and is supposedly home to many spirits.
Most notably the Lady in Gray, believed to be the ghost of former owner Margaret Thomas.
Like many of the estate homes in downtown Savannah, the Owens-Thomas House has been refurbished.
I wonder what happened to the Lady in Gray once the renovations started.
A cool breeze tickles my arms as I stare up at the top-floor windows, the shutters closed against the heat. I have the oddest sensation I’m being watched, despite the shuttered windows. Goose bumps rise on my arms, and I’m about to ask Kat if she felt the breeze, but Rachael has begun to fuss.
“I need to feed her. Let’s grab a bench in the square,” Kat says. The breeze and goose bumps disappear, and I chide myself for letting my imagination control my nervous system like that. I do a round of box breathing, Kat oblivious, busy with the stroller.
There’s plenty of activity today in Oglethorpe Square, with a seniors’ group doing tai chi and a gaggle of kids enjoying the splash pad.
We settle onto a bench, and Kat pulls out a mesh breastfeeding sling. “These are life-changing,” she says, settling Rachael into the sling. “Ideal position for nursing, gives me my hands back, but cool enough so Rae doesn’t overheat.”
The baby latches quickly. “MotherWise will send one in your welcome basket. Have you signed up yet?” Her tone is light, but I can tell the question isn’t hers alone.
I raise an eyebrow. “Did Wyatt say something?”
Kat smiles, caught. “He chatted with Nick about it.” She glances down at Rachael, nursing contentedly. I rest a hand on my mostly flat belly, imagining the two of us sitting here in some months, nursing our newborns together.
“It’s best to register early, Tilly. You won’t believe all the great stuff you can access now.”
“So I’ve heard,” I reply, a band of tightness settling over my stomach. MotherWise was in its infancy when I became pregnant with Poppy. Bare-bones, compared to now. NourishBoxes weren’t added until the pilot program’s second phase, about a year later. “I’m going to register. Soon.”
Kat nods but seems distracted. “Listen, can I talk to you about something?”
I’m concerned by her cautious tone. My shoulders tighten. “Sure. What’s up?”
“Have you spoken to Maeve? Like, in the past few days?”
“No.” I haven’t spoken with Maeve in a week—she’s been away with Jenn. “Why?”
“She was weird when I told her Nick and I were expecting again. Like, she seemed happy for me…you’re such a good mom, Kat, this is exactly what you and Nick wanted, congratulations…but it seemed put on.”
Rachael is in a milk haze, half-asleep at the breast, her cheeks rosy and mouth slightly open. Kat glances down at the baby, smiles, then adjusts her top to cover herself.
“I’m sure she was happy for you,” I say. “She’s probably tired—you know how much she works.”
“I know. I know.” Kat sighs.
“Or it might be related to one of her clients? Remember, she spends hours listening to women who desperately want this”—I gesture to Rachael—“and can’t have it.”
Kat nods. “True. But don’t you ever feel judged for wanting to have more kids when you’re with her and Jenn?”
She turns toward me. “Also, isn’t it strange she’s chosen to work in the field she does, with the women she does, when she doesn’t want a baby? Or to be a mother?”
I’ve considered this. Especially after a conversation we had years ago. But I’ve never asked her outright. It seems one of those things she would offer up if she wanted to.
Besides, if given the choice, I would be conserving original art rather than virtual exhibits, and Wyatt would be designing new buildings versus working on refurbishing already existing ones.
We do the work that’s available, because bills need to be paid and being idle is not an option.
It’s more than possible that Maeve does what she does because that’s where the opportunities exist.
“I don’t know. But it’s awkward sometimes,” Kat says. “Somehow when I talk about my pregnancies or my kids with her, it’s like I’m boring her to tears. As if being a mom—and being able to do so, which of course I’m hugely grateful for—makes me less interesting or something.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“I do! And I’m confident in my decisions,” Kat says. “I do wonder…maybe Maeve wants kids after all? Maybe Jenn’s the one driving that decision?”
“Maybe…” Maeve has never once talked about wanting to be a mother. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. “I suppose we can’t know for sure.”
“I suppose not. Besides, it’s none of my business.” Kat sets a sleeping Rachael back into the stroller. “Okay, time for a new topic. Something fun.”
Baby settled, she sits beside me again. “Are you getting the tattoo?”
I laugh. “You think getting a tracker injected counts as ‘fun’ on any level?”
Kat laughs as well. “Maybe ‘fun’ isn’t the right word. But it’s a quick way to see all is well with the baby. My nervous system is steady as a rock, as you know, but I still like the reassurance of it.”
“I haven’t decided,” I say. “But, as you know, I do suffer from anxiety, so maybe I should? I guess you’re getting another one, then?”
“Already done. This morning, actually.” She shows me the inside of her forearm, where three glossy dots form a small triangle near her wrist crease. The skin is slightly red, the smallest hint of swelling. “Don’t overthink it, Tilly. You’ll appreciate the peace of mind. Trust me.”
After I get home, tucking the few groceries I picked up into the fridge, I decide to register for MotherWise. Kat and Wyatt are right—I’ll appreciate the benefits. I’m still unsure about the pregnancy tattoo, though. It isn’t mandatory, as long as you’re in good health.
“First of all, congratulations on your pregnancy!” the customer service person, Angela, says. I hear the exclamation point in her voice and wonder if it’s real or trained. “Secondly, this call is being recorded for quality and educational purposes. May I proceed?”
“Yes, thanks,” I reply.
“Excellent. Now, let’s see if you’re already in our system, Tilly. What’s the spelling of your last name?”
“C-R-E-W-S-O-N. But it has been years since—”
“There you are!” The woman’s voice is bright and cheery. “Mathilde ‘Tilly’ Crewson, over on Oglethorpe?”
“Yes, that’s me,” I say.
“Seems you were last active…oh, it has been a few years, I see.” Angela’s tone changes. I know she’s likely looking at my cancellation, and the reason why.
“That’s why I wasn’t sure if I would…still be in the system,” I reply, clearing my throat. My watch buzzes. Time for breath work, Tilly?
“We keep all registrants in our database,” Angela says. “It’s easy to reactivate, but in your case that doesn’t seem necessary.”
“What doesn’t seem necessary?” I hit ignore on my watch.
“You’ve already been reactivated, Tilly. It looks like this current pregnancy was registered by a Mr. Wyatt Crewson. Is he your husband?”
“Yes, he is.” I swallow hard—there’s a bad taste in the back of my throat. “Can I ask…when did he call to register me?”
“Let’s see here…yesterday, actually. Is there an issue, Tilly?” Angela’s cheeriness has dimmed a couple of degrees.
“No issue. I’m, uh, just surprised. It was on my to-do list, but we must have gotten our wires crossed.” So much for Wyatt giving me another week. I’m fuming, though I can’t sort out what I’m most angry about.
“Happens more often than you would imagine; everyone is usually so darn excited!” Angela says with a laugh. Cheerful again. “Welcome back to MotherWise, Tilly Crewson and baby. We’re thrilled to have both of you.”