CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Leanne
Twenty Weeks ~ Baby is the size of a can of soda
The itchy paper beneath me crinkles with every fidgeting movement and my hands are trembling against my abdomen. At least they are until Bryce takes them both in his and holds them tight.
He raises them to his lips, brushing them over my knuckles. “It’s okay, blondie.”
He seems so calm—no bouncing knees or jittery hands—but I’m a jumble of nerves…
both the good and bad kind. I can’t wait to see the baby again, but at the same time, we could find out there’s something wrong.
This scan could show us any number of developmental issues—I probably shouldn’t have consulted Dr. Google or read those chapters in the books, but I did—and there’s only so much you can prepare for that possibility.
It wouldn’t change anything about how much I love this baby, but the mental gymnastics of the what-ifs is exhausting.
“Knock knock,” a trilling voice says from the door as it cracks open, revealing the ultrasound tech. “Are you ready for the big reveal? We are finding out the sex today, right?”
“Yes,” Bryce and I answer in unison.
I think it’s the only thing we’ve ever agreed on so fast. I’m a planner after all, and so is he.
Having that kind of information at our fingertips and not knowing would drive us both mad.
Everything about this pregnancy seems to pull Bryce and me onto the same page, where it felt like we were living in completely different books when we first met.
The tech, whose lanyard reads Callie, smiles. “Perfect. Then let’s do this.”
A muscle jumps in Bryce’s jaw… Maybe he’s more nervous than I thought. I skim my thumb over the top of his hand in comfort and solidarity.
Not for the first time, I wonder if we ever could’ve been who we are with each other now if I hadn’t gotten pregnant. I can’t imagine we would. But should that matter? We are here, I am pregnant, we do have this pull to each other… but is that enough?
I ask myself this question often, and not only in reference to Bryce. My value has always felt tied to what I can offer others. The funny thing is, Bryce sees me for who I really am better than anyone, but the insecurities and doubts are still hard to shake.
Callie sits on a swiveling stool on the opposite side of the bed and helps me lift my shirt, tucking a drape into my maternity leggings and tugging them down nearly to my pubic bone. My bump isn’t particularly large yet, but it’s growing more by the day.
I grab Bryce’s hand again in both of mine and hold it over my chest, giving it three squeezes.
“Don’t be nervous,” she says, pulling gloves on and grabbing a packet of gel from a warmer beside the machine. “This is an exciting day.”
She’s right, it is, but that doesn’t stop my brain from overthinking.
It’s not the gel on my stomach grounding me into this moment though. No, it’s the soft press of Bryce’s lips on my temple. It’s a silent promise. One I know he can’t make but I appreciate anyway.
“I’m going to do the full anatomy scan first, get all the images we need for the doctor. Then we’ll do the gender, okay?”
I nod and Bryce gives my hand another reassuring squeeze.
Callie goes through the scan, pointing out things she thinks will interest us—ten fingers, ten toes, a strong heartbeat, a perfect tiny nose—while also grabbing images of a lot of things I don’t fully understand, like measurements of certain organs.
The baby jolts, kicking one little foot, then the other.
“Can you feel that?” Bryce asks, awed by what he sees on the screen.
I shake my head, and Callie nods. “You have an anterior placenta.” She moves the wand over my stomach and shows us on the screen where my placenta is in comparison to the baby.
“It can make it much more difficult for you to feel the baby’s movements until they’re stronger.
They seem pretty active though, so I imagine you’ll be feeling them soon. ”
I breathe a silent sigh of relief and see a similar expression overtake Bryce’s face. Yeah, he’s definitely been worrying about why I wasn’t feeling movement.
By the time she’s finished taking all the pictures she needs, I am transfixed. In awe of the complete human with all the same anatomy I have, just so much smaller, on the other side of my skin.
“Okay, luckily the little one is being cooperative right now. Are you ready to find out if it’s a boy or girl?”
I look at Bryce and he has this wistful, pensive look on his face, but when he glances at me, it clears with a wide smile and we both nod, looking at the screen.
With a rotation of the wand, it’s quite clear what the baby’s sex is based on what we see—or more like what we don’t see.
“It’s a girl,” she says, smiling.
I’m stunned into silence, and so it seems is Bryce. We stare at the screen and then slowly look at each other, matching grins spreading on our faces.
I really had no preference, girl or boy, but with two sisters, I think I was secretly hoping it was a girl.
I pictured a girl when I thought of late-night feedings and couch snuggles, but somehow I’m equally surprised and elated.
I’m going to be a girl mom. I can dress her up like my mom did with me and my sisters.
We can match and play with dolls and her aunts will spoil her rotten.
I don’t realize I’m crying until Bryce’s thumb catches a tear on my cheek, and then I realize there’s a track of wet tears to his beard as well.
“A girl,” he says, with so much reverence it’s like he never could’ve imagined such a thing.
“A girl,” I say back with a nod, and something between us clicks, like a tether snapping into place. When I lift my head an inch, he closes the distance and his lips meet mine. It’s soft and sweet, but meaningful in a way I’m afraid to examine.
He’s reluctant when he pulls back, like his lips have no desire to part from mine—I understand the feeling.
I can’t look away, getting lost in dark eyes—eyes that have so much emotion swirling inside them.
I barely even notice when Callie wipes the gel from my stomach, or when she says we can take our time, or when she quietly leaves the room.
It’s only me and Bryce and an image of our baby girl on the screen. Life has narrowed to this pinpoint, to this moment, to our family.
His hand is warm against my stomach and achingly gentle. We both look at the place where it rests and his words are filled with awe when he says, “Our girl.”
His. Mine. Ours.
“Ours,” I whisper.
Then I press onto one elbow and reach for his face, letting my thumb coast over the tearstained cheek. And I kiss him again.