Expecting: A Novel

by Ann Lewis Hamilton

  Emilie gets up and runs over to Laurie, hands her a giraffe. “Meow,” Emilie says.

  Laurie pulls Emilie into her arms. “I don’t know what a giraffe says. I think they snort or grunt.”

  Emilie thinks. “Grrr.”

  “I’m not sure that’s right either.” Laurie attempts a giraffe sound. Emilie looks at her, puzzled.

  “Woof,” Emilie says.

  ***

  Alan has a late meeting at Palmer-Boone, so Laurie makes herself dinner, and after wasting time looking at sandals on Zappos, she finally decides to visit adoption sites. She’s surprised to see so many; obviously there are plenty of people looking for children. She goes to one site and clicks on the section featuring “Parents Looking to Adopt.” They contain photos and “pick me” letters to potential mothers-to-be.

  She sees a photo of a young, fresh-faced couple, Brian and Rachelle. “Our Midwestern roots and values will make family our priority. Thank you for considering us.”

  Brian talks about his wife: “Rachelle teaches preschool but will quit her job to be a stay-at-home mom. She loves cooking and Rollerblading and quilting.”

  Rachelle says Brian works as an EMT, likes camping, and is one of eleven children. “He adores big families,” she says.

  “We appreciate your selflessness and courage in making this decision. Blessings to you.”

  Laurie looks at Brian and Rachelle’s photo again. If I had an extra baby to go around, I would send him to you, she thinks.

  Mike and Melody. Mike teaches fourth grade; he enjoys working for Habitat for Humanity and playing with his dog, Whiskers. Melody teaches piano and the church youth choir. “Having a child would be a dream come true.”

  Other couples talk about their infertility journeys. Lost pregnancies. The sadness is carefully hidden behind the photos people choose to accompany their letters. Women dressed in sweater sets, men wearing crisp khakis, sitting close to their wives. Posed in front of fireplaces with Christmas stockings or outside on the deck. (“We’ve already babyproofed our pool!”) Views of mountains, green backyards with swing sets ready to be used. Couples with giant sunny smiles. Pick us!

  Laurie understands their desperation. I bet after you took the photo, Rachelle and Melody, you crawled into bed and pulled the covers over your head. Because you think nobody is ever going to pick you. All the swing sets and church choirs in the world won’t get you a baby.

  Laurie sees a photo of another couple. The woman is pretty but very overweight. In Ivy’s personal statement, she talks of recently having gastric bypass: “I need to be as healthy as I can. To be a good mother.”

  Poor Ivy. What pregnant sixteen-year-old girl looking at pictures on an adoption website would select an overweight woman? I don’t want my baby raised in a house of Ho-Hos. I want my baby to have model-thin, People magazine–beautiful parents. Unless the young girl looks closely at the hope in Ivy’s face—and if she keeps reading, she’ll see that Ivy and her husband Andy have a house not far from Denver, three acres of land, and two dogs. Ivy is a nurse, Andy owns a small construction company, and they love music and nature and books. Ivy likes Shakespeare, especially The Tempest. She’s put her favorite lines at the bottom of her letter:

  How many goodly creatures are there here!

  How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,

  That has such people in’t.

  She doesn’t hear Alan come home. He bends over her shoulder and looks at the computer screen. “What are you doing?” he asks her.

  “Adoption sites. Pick-me letters.”

  Alan frowns. “Pick-me letters?”

  “People post letters and hope pregnant women will select them to raise their children.”

  Alan checks out a photo of a young, athletic couple standing beside triathlon bikes. “Do we have to buy triathlon bikes?”

  Laurie taps the screen. “Allison and Reid love triathlons. They own a vineyard. He’s a volunteer firefighter. She runs the local food bank.”

  “Huh,” Alan says.

  Laurie nods at him. They are both thinking the same thing. Alan speaks first. “Who would pick us?”

  Laurie pretends to type. “Alan and I have been married for five years. Infertility has made us cranky with each other, and we might be too set in our ways to be good parents. I work for a local blog called Hidden Valley, which sounds much more exciting than it is. Would you like to visit a man who has a shoelace collection?”

  “Shoelaces could be interesting.” Alan takes over. “My job. VP at a large company, job security slightly questionable, downsizing can happen like that.” He snaps his fingers, turns to Laurie.

  She smiles at him. Pretends to continue to type. “We used to go to church, but we’re a little pissed off at God these days.”

  “We’d make great Satanists though,” Alan says. Then looks serious. “Should we buy a vineyard?”

  “I don’t want to write a pick-me letter, Alan.”

  “I don’t want to do a triathlon. We would make great parents.” He corrects himself. “We will make great parents.” He heads for the kitchen. “Are there leftovers?”

  “Yes.” Laurie will look at Ivy’s page again, think good thoughts. You’ll get your wish, Ivy. Hang in there.

  ***

  Alan crashes early and Laurie picks up Dr. Julian’s IUI booklet. Here goes. She begins to read.

  Artificial insemination, or AI, is the process by which sperm is placed into the reproductive tract of a female for the purpose of impregnating the female by using means other than sexual intercourse.

  A sperm sample will be provided by the male partner, obtained through masturbation or the use of an electrical stimulator.

  An electrical stimulator? Dr. Julian didn’t say anything about that. Unless he told Alan when Laurie wasn’t around. Except Alan would have mentioned it to Laurie; something like that isn’t the kind of thing Alan could keep secret. Is “electrical stimulator” some man code for “super hot hooker woman who works at the fertility clinic?” Maybe they hire women to come in and give hand jobs. When Alan and Laurie arrive for the IUI, the receptionist will ask Alan, “Will you be masturbating or using the electrical stimulator?” And she’ll wink at Alan to let him know who’s waiting for him in the special room.

  When using intrauterine insemination (IUI), the sperm must have been “washed” in a laboratory and concentrated in Ham’s F-10 medium without L-glutamine, warmed to 37˚C.

  Ham’s F-10 medium. WTF? Everything is technical—the spontaneity, the joy of getting pregnant is long gone. When Laurie and Alan first decided it was time for a baby, they’d performed a “burning of the diaphragm” ritual even though it didn’t exactly burn up when they threw it in the fireplace—it smoked and shriveled up in an icky way. A bad omen?

  Will IUI work? Or will they have to go back and do it again and again, and eventually they’ll move on to in vitro where both of them are absent from the process? They won’t even be in the room when the baby is conceived. And when that fails—it’s time to take the picture by the fireplace and start writing their pick-me letter.

  ***

  Laurie’s mother arrives from Reno for the weekend and they go to the beach because her mother says it’s important to see the ocean at least once a year. “To remind you how big the world is,” she explains, pointing to the horizon. “Practically infinite.” Laurie’s mother looks out at the ocean for a long time, as if she’s recharging her batteries.

  “Okay, we can walk now,” she finally says. “Keep an eye out for good-looking men, older than forty, younger than seventy.”

  Laurie’s father died when Laurie was in high school, and she’s encouraged her mother to date, but her mother has been reluctant until recently.

  “Forty?” Laurie says. Her mom is in her late fifties and looks good for her age. Very good. But forty?

 
“I waited a long time before getting back in the dating game.” Her mother nods at a handsome blond man standing with his surfboard. “Check out that six-pack.”

  “Mom.” Is it better if her mother doesn’t date again?

  “So when’s the IUI?”

  “Next week. I’m not sure it’s going to work.”

  “To dream the impossible dream…” Laurie’s mother starts to sing and Laurie laughs. Her father used to play his Man of La Mancha record over and over, and he’d sing along, driving everyone crazy until Laurie’s mom threw the record away.

  “I still miss Daddy,” Laurie says. “But not that song.” She’s sad her father never saw her graduate from high school or college. Or met Alan. Or got to be a grandparent.

  “You could talk to somebody,” her mother suggests. Her mother has worked as a social worker for most of her life and she’s a big advocate of therapy.

  “I can handle this.”

  “It’s okay if you can’t.”

  “I told you, I’m fine.”

  Her mother shakes her head. “You’ve always said that. My daughter, Miss Independent. Everything’s fine, I can handle it.”

  “I can.”

  “Sometimes it’s okay to lean on people.”

  “But I don’t need to.”

  “You sound like your father.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Mom.”

  “That’s the impossible dream,” her mother says. “When you’re a mom—and I’m sure you will be—you’ll worry constantly.”

  ***

  The night before the IUI, Alan has a screwdriver with dinner. “Vitamin C reduces sperm agglutination,” Dr. Julian had told them. “Whoa, I’d hate to have agglutinated sperm.” Alan waved his hands in the air in mock despair, and Dr. Julian gave him a look like he was an idiot. “That means your sperm sticks together, not good for fertility,” Dr. Julian said.

  Laurie gets Alan’s favorite red velvet cupcakes from the bakery down the street and he has two—sugar is bound to super-supercharge his sperm, right?

  “Screwdrivers, cupcakes? Suppose I barf?” he says. “Does that mean when the baby’s born we’ll have to give him a barf-related name, like upchuck? Upchuck Gaines.”

  He’s trying too hard, that’s what’s going on, Laurie decides. “Are you scared?” she asks him.

  “Of what?”

  “Of all this.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” Alan says.

  Laurie remains unconvinced.

  ***

  When the lab tech comes into the examining room with the syringe, Alan squeezes Laurie’s hand and says, “Looks just like me.” Laurie squeezes Alan’s hand back but wishes he would shut up. She says a silent prayer. Please don’t let Alan say anything about Upchuck. Then she thinks, Yeah, that’ll be the one request God grants. Nothing about carrying a baby to term. All she’s ever going to get from God is one lousy hunk of time where her husband doesn’t make an Upchuck joke.

  Dr. Julian instructs Laurie not to move for thirty minutes, let the supercharged semen do what it’s supposed to do. Alan tells Laurie he can stay here with her, but she says he might as well get a cup of coffee, so he leaves and Laurie is left alone in the examining room. Well, Upchuck, she tells the possibly soon-to-be-conceived baby, this is a special moment for you. One your father and I will always cherish. Nothing says special moment like looking around an examining room at Modigliani prints on the wall and out a window with a fantastic view of a parking lot.

  “I promise not to call you Upchuck,” she whispers. “Just don’t make me write pick-me letters. Grow and thrive, dammit. No ‘blighted’ business. Are you listening? You do your part, I’ll do mine. Is that a deal?”

  In the silence of the room, she can hear the tap tap of footsteps in the hallway. A woman’s laugh. And at that moment, Laurie feels a rush, a wave, something light moving in her body, like an extra breath. Or a sigh.

  Alan

  He thought about Nancy Futterman the other day. He’d found one of Nancy’s Christmas card photos in his desk drawer at work; she sends them every year along with a chatty letter describing the latest accomplishments of her two young children. “Trevor is musical!! He loves to bang on the piano. And sometimes Ava sings along!” Nancy was his first girlfriend who “could be the one.” And it scared him back then because who thinks about marriage when they’re in college, even though Nancy Futterman was pretty, with long legs that went on forever, great boobs, and thick blond hair she’d toss like a horse’s mane. “Not a horse, dummy,” she’d say. “I’m practicing to be a stripper. If graduate school doesn’t work out.”

  They broke up after graduation when they moved to different cities, no hard feelings; he’s sure she had the same ambivalence about marriage he did. Not that they’d ever discussed marriage—not out loud anyway. Nancy’s husband, Bob, works in real estate, born and raised in Dallas, where they live now. A big Cowboys fan. That’s a negative for Alan, raised in Virginia and in the religion of the Redskins.

  Trevor and Ava look like a blend of Nancy and Bob, healthy and blond and happy. Nancy’s family goes on cruises and safaris. Trevor and Ava already know how to ski and snorkel. Alan and Laurie will never catch up.

  That’s not a reason to have children, he tells himself. To brag about their accomplishments in Christmas letters. Thank God Laurie and I aren’t that shallow.

  And yet, he wonders about Bob and Nancy: When did they make the decision to get pregnant? Did they have any doubts, any problems? Fertility issues? No, that’s stupid. He knows it’s a waste of time to compare his life to anybody else’s. Nobody’s life is perfect. He examines Nancy’s Christmas card. Notices Bob’s eyes are too close together. And squinty. Probably wears glasses but is too vain to put them on for the photo.

  Does Nancy ever think about Alan? Not that it matters. He knows he’s better off with Laurie. Even though they’ve gotten slightly out of sync lately. It’s not about blame or guilt with each other. Unless maybe it is. A year of miscarriages and now a fertility doctor. Trying to stay positive is exhausting. And masking disappointment? Equally exhausting. But how long does the friggin’ disappointment have to go on? Why is it so easy for the Nancy Futtermans of the world?

  ***

  “Knock knock.”

  Alan looks up and Laurie is standing in the doorway of his office. “Nice surprise,” he says.

  She walks over to his desk and kisses him on the cheek. “Good. I hope you’re in the mood for surprises because I have another one.”

  He looks in her eyes and they’re brighter than usual. Of course they are, because she’s got that glow again, the pregnancy glow.

  They walk outside to the Palmer-Boone patio and watch a group of Palmer-Boone employees play basketball in a corner of the parking lot.

  “Did you call Dr. Julian?” Alan asks her.

  “Not yet. I just took the home pregnancy test this morning. Let’s hear it for your supercharged sperm.”

  “I suppose if it’s a girl, we’ll have to name her Jessica Alba.”

  “Jessica’s a pretty name,” Laurie says. She takes a deep breath. “We’re doing this again.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m afraid.”

  “Me too,” Alan says. “But don’t worry. I promise I won’t say the third time’s the charm.”

  “Nuts. You jinxed it.” Laurie’s smacks Alan on the arm. A friendly smack. He hopes.

  “Congratulations,” he says, kissing her.

  “Congratulations to you,” she says.

  And then they don’t say anything. They don’t know what to say. Alan is sure she is thinking the same thing he is. Now what?

  ***

  After Laurie leaves, he goes back to his office and thinks about calling his parents. They’ve been concerned. Not in a bad way; they’re very supportive. But should
he tell them? Should he tell anybody? It didn’t work out before when he told people. Oh no, is he going to be superstitious this time?

  He opens a desk drawer and finds a package of peanut M&M’s, shakes out a few: a red one and a green one. That’s a good sign, right? It’s not as if two brown ones came out. Everybody knows brown M&M’s are unlucky. He pops them in his mouth and realizes the package has been in his desk drawer too long and the peanuts are stale. A bad sign?

  He can’t spend nine months worrying about what could go wrong. He grabs an M&M. Whew, a red one. A red M&M must mean everything will be fantastic.

  He checks his email, considers going on Facebook. But Facebook is silly; he’d resisted it until Peter created a Palmer-Boone softball team page and insisted he join.

  Nothing new at the softball group. Alan could tell Peter about Laurie. Peter is married with a ten-month-old baby; he was sympathetic after the first miscarriage. Could Alan explain to Peter how he has an uneasy feeling these days, how it started with Dr. Julian saying, “I can give you a baby”? Shouldn’t Laurie and I be able to get our own baby? Of course he’s excited at Laurie’s news, but there’s a touch of something else. Fear? A premonition of something terrible about to happen? What would Peter say to him? “Just chill.”

  No, he’s not going to tell anybody. Not his parents, not Peter. He’ll wait ten weeks, or fourteen weeks. Or until Laurie shows up at the Palmer-Boone Christmas party with a baby in her arms.

  Alan goes to his Facebook profile page. His profile picture is from a softball game where he’s sliding into home plate. It looks like he beat the tag, but he didn’t. The umpire had something in his eye, the run counted, and they won the game.

  “Cheater,” Laurie said. “You were out by a mile.”

  “Sometimes things go your way,” Alan told her. “It all evens out.”

  Does it? When do things even out? Why does the squeaky wheel get the grease? Why shouldn’t the wheel that works the hardest, doesn’t behave like an asshole, why shouldn’t that wheel get the grease? Laurie and I were made to be wonderful parents. Why do we have to go through this bullshit? We are unsqueaky wheels. And we want our turn.