23. Clara
Chapter Twenty-Three
CLARA
The next morning, I wake up feeling like I’ve been hit by a train.
My whole body is covered in a thin film of sweat, and my limbs feel like they’re made of concrete. Not only that but I’m pretty sure someone must have taken a hammer to my temples at some point in the night.
I groan as I force myself to sit up.
Though the moment I do, my stomach clenches, and I drop back against the pillow as I try to breathe through the nausea.
I glance over to Marco’s side of the bed.
It’s empty, but I’m not surprised.
He’s the definition of a morning person, which is good when it comes to taking the first shift with Zoe.
Speaking of which, my daughter is quiet on the monitor, so I take the opportunity to close my eyes and try to rest for a little longer.
My suspicions as to what is causing my nausea is growing, but I’m still reluctant to say anything to Marco in case I’m wrong. I would hate to get his hopes up over nothing.
Just as start drifting back to sleep, his footsteps sound outside the door, and I peel my eyes open just as he walks in, carrying a glass of water in one hand and his phone in the other.
His brows furrow the second he sees me.
He sets the glass down on the bedside table. “That’s it. I’m calling the doctor.”
I blink up at him. “Marco, I’m fine. I probably just need?—”
“No.” He’s already tapping away on his phone. “You said that yesterday. You’re still pale and clammy-looking, so you’re clearly not getting better.”
“Gee, thanks,” I mutter, but Marco isn’t listening.
“I’m not going to sit around and wait until it gets worse. I’ll have someone come here to check you over.”
I sigh, pulling the blanket tighter around myself.
There’s no arguing with Marco when he gets like this, all protective and bossy in a way that’s both frustrating and kind of sweet.
“I’d just rather avoid you ending up in the hospital.” His voice softens as he bends down to tuck the blankets around me. “Let’s get ahead of this thing, okay?”
“Fine. But I get to stay in bed. That’s my terms.”
He grins. “Deal.”
Zoe starts stirring on the monitor, and I let out a sigh, knowing she’ll want a feed.
“I can get her a bottle,” Marco offers, but I shake my head.
“I want to try and keep my supply up.” But I doubt I’ll have much milk, considering I’ve barely drank any water over the past twenty-four hours. “Could you bring her in here for me?”
“Of course, love.” He places a kiss on my temple before going next door.
He talks to Zoe on the monitor, and my heart swells as I watch the two of them on the screen.
Marco is a natural father, and I know if I told him of my suspicions, he would be overjoyed.
But I’ve only just gotten my place at the Fashion Institute, and who knows if I’ll be able to defer it.
The thought of having a baby right now doesn’t exactly thrill me, but I guess I’ll just have to cross that bridge if it comes to it.
Marco comes back into the bedroom and places Zoe beside me on the bed, her tiny body wriggling with excitement the moment she sees me.
Her little giraffe rattle is clutched in her chubby hands, and she waves it around as she looks between Marco and me, clearly excited by the fact she has the undivided attention of both her parents.
Marco gazes adoringly at our daughter. “God, I love her so much.”
“Hi, baby girl.” I brush a kiss over Zoe’s soft hair. “You’re the only one I’m willing to be awake for right now.”
She gurgles like she understands exactly what I said.
She’s seven months old now, and it blows my mind how quickly the time has gone. One minute, she was this fragile, sleepy little newborn, and now she’s a curious and opinionated person with the most expressive brown eyes I’ve ever seen.
I almost miss those early days.
Almost.
The sleepless nights were rough, especially when I was balancing them with a full-time job.
But it wouldn’t be like that the second time around. I would have Marco and his family to help…
Marco scoots up from the bed. “I’ll be right back.”
I get Zoe situated for her morning feed.
Zoe is almost finished by the time he returns, carrying a tray of waffles and a steaming cup of tea.
“It’s ginger to help settle your stomach.” He sets the tray down on the nightstand. “And the waffles because you haven’t eaten anything in a while.”
I grimace as I look at the food. “I don’t think I can eat anything.”
“You also said you were fine, so your judgment’s clearly off today.” His lips pull up in a teasing grin that makes it impossible to stay mad at him.
I pick up a waffle and take the tiniest bite to humor him and immediately come to regret it.
My stomach churns violently, and I slap a hand over my mouth.
“Love?” Marco grabs Zoe, looking panicked, as I jump out of bed and bolt into the bathroom to throw up.
I don’t have it in me to feel embarrassed by the fact he can hear me. Though, considering the fact I spent most of the past twenty-four hours with my head in the toilet, there’s not much left in my stomach to bring up.
After what feels like an eternity of heaving and gasping, I rinse my mouth out with some water and stagger back into the bedroom.
Marco hovers near the doorway, guilt written all over his face as he looks at me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have forced you to eat.”
“It’s fine.” I climb back under the blanket. “It was bound to happen. Just…no more waffles, okay?”
He nods, stepping closer to the bed as he shifts Zoe to his other arm. “I hate seeing you like this. What can I do?”
“You’ve done enough. We just have to wait for it to pass.”
“Maybe I should stay home today to keep an eye on you.”
I shake my head. “Marco, I’ll be fine. Lila and Rosa are both here, so Zoe is taken care of. And I’m just going to stay in bed and sleep this off.”
Marco doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t fight me further. “All right. But I’ll be checking in, hourly.”
“Shocking,” I mutter with a sleepy smile as he disappears out the door with Zoe in hand.
I have to get out of bed at least once every hour to run to the bathroom.
I try to take another bite of food, knowing I need to eat in order to keep my milk supply up, but it only makes me feel worse.
So, I settle for sipping on some ginger tea and distracting myself with trashy reality shows on the TV.
I must have gone back to sleep at some point as I’m woken to Lila’s voice.
“Clara.” She gently shakes my shoulder. “The doctor is here.”
I blink up at her, still groggy and half-asleep. “Huh?”
“Doctor Weston is here to check you over. Shall I send her in?”
I sit up slowly, the nausea still lingering in my stomach. “Uh, sure.”
My throat is painfully dry, but I’m too scared to even drink water because I’m not even managing to keep down liquids.
Lila squeezes my shoulder before opening the door to the bedroom and ushering the doctor inside. “Give me a shout if you need anything,” she says before closing the door behind her, leaving me alone with Doctor Weston.
She’s a woman in her mid-fifties, with short dark hair and thick black glasses.
“Good morning, Clara.” She offers me a warm smile. “I’m Dr. Weston. Your husband tells me you’ve been suffering quite badly with a stomach bug.”
My stomach flips, and it has nothing to do with the nausea and everything to do with her referring to Marco as my husband, but I don’t correct her.
I kind of like the sound of it.
“Yes.” I sit up a little more, running my hands over my hair to try and smooth it down. “I’ve had pretty persistent nausea, and I haven’t managed to keep down any food or water.”
“How long has this lasted?”
I frown as I try to think how many hours it’s been. “Almost forty-eight, I think.”
“Right…”
“I’m still breastfeeding my daughter, and I’m concerned about my milk supply running low because of this. It was already a little low to begin with.”
“How old is your daughter?”
“Seven months. I was hoping to keep breast feeding until she’s at least a year old.”
“Well, if this is a stomach bug, a few days shouldn’t have too much of an effect on your supply. Do you pump?”
“Yes.”
“I suggest you continue to pump even if there isn’t much milk right now as it will help to keep your supply up. And when you’re feeling better, I recommend you eat plenty of dark leafy greens and oatmeal to help with milk production also.”
“Great, thanks.”
“So, can you tell me more specifically about your symptoms?” She sets her bag down on the end of the bed and pulls out a clipboard with some forms attached.
“Mostly nausea and fatigue. And also, sensitivity to certain smells.”
“Hmm…” Dr. Weston scribbles down some notes.
“At first, I thought I might be pregnant. The symptoms feel…familiar. I felt like this when I was pregnant with Zoe.”
Dr. Weston arches a brow. “And you’re still breastfeeding.”
I nod.
“What about sex?”
Heat rushes to my face despite the fact that I’m a grown woman with a child. But somehow, speaking to a doctor about sex makes me feel like a teenager. “Yes, I’m, uh…having sex.”
“Then unless you used any contraception, pregnancy is absolutely a possibility.”
“B-but I thought you couldn’t get pregnant if you’re breastfeeding?” I’m a little panicked as I think of all the times Marco and I have slept together over the past few weeks, completely unprotected.
“It definitely reduces your chances, but it doesn’t eliminate them completely.” She reaches into her bag for a plastic cup. “Let’s check to be sure.”
My heart pounds as I take the cup and head into the bathroom.
I feel stupid for bypassing protection when Marco and I had sex and relying on the fact I was breastfeeding, but I guess there’s not much I can do about it now.
When I return with the sample, Dr. Weston immediately dips the test into the cup and within fifteen seconds, the two lines start to appear clear as day.
I’m pregnant.
Again.
“It looks like your suspicions were correct.” Dr. Weston offers me a smile. “Congratulations.”
I’m too stunned to speak. Every emotion is coursing through me as I take the test from Dr. Weston and stare down at the two pink lines.
Zoe isn’t even a year old yet, and my life is only starting to get back on the right course after my first pregnancy sent it careering off the tracks.
And now I’m about to do it all over again.
“Do you know the date of your last period?”
I shake my head. “They’re still irregular after having Zoe. I-I couldn’t say for sure. Maybe six weeks?”
“Okay, well, I suggest you book yourself in for a scan as soon as you’re feeling better so we can get an idea of how far along you are. In the meantime, I’ll leave some electrolyte sachets for you to drink just to keep you hydrated and try to stick to plain foods to help keep your stomach settled.”
“O-of course.” My eyes remain fixed on the two pink lines.
“If your nausea gets worse, please call me as it could be an indication of hyperemesis gravidarum, in which case, we’d need to admit you and administer fluids.”
I nod, too overwhelmed to speak.
“Congratulations, again.” She leaves the room.
I press a hand to my stomach as the reality starts to sink in.
“Holy crap.”
I’m going to have another baby.
Even though there’s a tiny ache building in my chest at the idea of delaying my dreams of going to fashion school once again, there’s one thing I already know for sure.
This baby is already loved.