The Knocked Up Plan

My mom points to my stocking. “Now, I know we’ll start working on your closet/nursery redo in the third trimester so you’re ready, but I’m not getting anything for the baby until he or she is born.” I nod, understanding. She doesn’t want to tempt fate. “So this is for you.”

I dip my hand inside and grab a wrapped envelope. I slide my thumb under it and take out a homemade gift certificate. I laugh. It’s for dog babysitting services. Redeemable anytime.

“I’ll practice my babysitting with your dog. Whenever you need a break, you call on me,” she says.

“I will.”

The lump returns once more as I think about someone else I want to call on.



That afternoon, I join the crew for a few hours. Delaney and her boyfriend, Tyler, invited me for Christmas cookies, hot chocolate, and hot toddies. Tyler’s best buddy, Simon, is hosting the soiree with his wife, Abby, at his swank East Side home.

I’ve gotten to know them a bit, but I haven’t seen them in a few months, so I’m surprised to find Abby has a little belly, too, though she’s clearly further along than me. With the amount of time I’ve spent studying pregnancy, and with Abby’s small stature—she’s a pipsqueak—I’m guessing she’s five and a half months.

I ask her if she is.

“Five months and three weeks.” Abby holds up her hot chocolate and clinks mugs to mine. “Very impressive pregnancy radar.”

I hold up my thumb and forefinger to show a sliver of space. “I’m only slightly obsessed about pregnancy. I’m eleven weeks.” She beams and congratulates me, and I add, “And I can’t wait to get out of the first trimester. I finally got my appetite back.”

Abby scans the room as if she’s making sure no kids are around then says, “That’s not the only appetite you get back in the second trimester.”

“Oh yeah?”

She runs a hand through her honey-colored curls. “Some days, it’s like all you want to do is jump on him and climb him like a tree.” She casts a glance at her handsome husband across the room.

I laugh. “Sounds like fun.”

“It’s like you’re walking around in this state of constant arousal. He’ll touch your shoulder when you’re getting out the pasta to make dinner, and you grab him, and he takes you right then and there. Who cares about the penne?”

“God, that sounds heavenly,” I say, and if I wasn’t missing Ryder before, I am now. A lot.

“And the orgasms,” she says quietly. “Better than any I’ve ever had before, and it’s not like they were mediocre to start with.”

I whimper. “I know what I’ll be doing tonight. A little online Christmas shopping for some new vibrators.”

“Get extra batteries, too. You’ll need them.”

When I hop on the Internet later, I do just that. I’m like a bear, stocking up for the winter.

A few weeks later, I take Frederick shopping for an iron. Then, I teach him how to use it. Later that night, he sends me a pizza as a thank-you gift. It’s delicious.

The next day I get an even better gift. At my thirteen-week appointment, the doctor brandishes an ultrasound wand and squirts some gel on my belly.

“Don’t tell me the sex,” I warn.

Dr. Robinson laughs. “You’ve only told me twenty times not to tell you the baby’s gender.”

“Yes, I’m what’s known as a repeater,” I say.

I lie on the table, my purple sweater tucked under my breasts, my jeans undone as she travels across my stomach, peering at the ultrasound screen.

She nods as if she’s pleased. The look on her face makes me relax even more. There’s nothing better than a satisfied doctor when you’re the patient. “We’re looking good,” she says, then she meets my eyes. “Do you want to hear your baby’s heartbeat?”

“Yes,” I say breathlessly.

As she positions the wand just so, searching for the right spot, I hold my breath, waiting.

I hear galloping horses, thunder across the sky, and I know the meaning of the word joy. It floods my entire being as tears streak down my face. “That’s amazing,” I whisper, as if we’re in church.

I feel as if I’m in the presence of something holy. Something greater than I’ve ever experienced before.

New life.

The smile that spreads across my face is like wings, and I’m soaring with happiness.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” the doctor asks.

“The best music ever.”

We listen for a few more seconds, the heartbeat the only noise in the otherwise quiet exam room. It’s the only sound in my entire world.

I wish Ryder were here to share this moment with me.

“You can record the sound on your phone if you want to play it later,” she offers.

For a moment, I’m tempted to take her up on it. But I shake my head. I’ve no idea if Ryder would even want to hear the heartbeat, and for me, I want to just live in this moment, not on my phone.

“That’s okay,” I say, shaking my head. “I like experiencing it live better.”

The doctor continues her travels over my belly, away from the heart, checking everything else one more time.

As I lie here, I think of the man who made this happen—his kindness, his goodness, his humor. I swallow back another round of tears and try to shove away these scary new impulses.

It’s wishful thinking to long for him to be a part of this phase. He didn’t sign up for this role. He didn’t ask to be by my side. He gave me the part of him I needed most.

Just because I might want more right now doesn’t mean I can expect it.

Later, when I go home, I let myself linger once more on that wild idea of Ryder sharing this with me. Then I dismiss it, because the sky fills with dark clouds, as if agreeing with me that nothing good can come of it.





Twenty-Eight





Ryder

I see it from one hundred feet away.

Adrenaline takes over as Simone crashes on the slope, a hot pink blur tumbling around the curve in the run.

Jamming my poles into the packed snow, I ski as quickly as I can to her, stopping abruptly and bending to offer a hand. “You okay, sweetie?”

She winces but nods bravely. “Just a crash. I’m fine.”

I breathe a huge sigh of relief. “Are you sure?”

She looks at me, and even with the ski goggles on, I can see her brown eyes twinkle. She laughs. “I fell on my butt, and you’re freaking out.”

I am.

She’s right.

I’m completely freaking out.

I huff and act indignant, going with it. “Oh, that’s nice. Make fun of the caring, considerate uncle.”

“It’s cute. You’re sweet,” she says and takes my hand as I yank her up. “I’m totally fine. Falling is normal.”

“It still worries me when I see you do it, especially since you’re my responsibility.”

Devon and Paul are racing the black diamonds today, so Simone and I have tackled the easy to medium runs. She’s a snowboarder, and I prefer to kick it old-school on skis. This is our ski weekend trip over the Martin Luther King Jr. holiday. We already skied during Christmas and had an absolute blast.

In the last few weeks, I’ve spent more time with Simone and Devon on the weekends than usual, grabbing any chance I can to join them for ski trips, movies, and dinners out. I was so damn occupied in the fall that if I don’t keep busy now, I’ll be like one of those lonely lions in a cage at the zoo, pacing back and forth all day long.