The day before her birthday, she had orders to take a pregnancy test, and if it wasn’t positive, start testing her ovulation again. Chad, finally realizing that her birthday had arrived once again, decided she must be waiting for her birthday to tell him. His mother called every few days until Christopher heard of it and put a stop to it. She called one afternoon, apologetic and repentant saying, “When it comes to babies and Willow, I don’t think I’m very rational. Just keep me out of it until it’s a definite thing, okay?”
July twenty-second arrived raining, pouring rather, and dreary. Willow had no doubt that the stick dipped into a cup of urine would be a waste of time, money, and hopes, but she followed orders to the letter. After a second look at the stick, she flipped open her phone and called the doctor’s answering service, insisting he call her back immediately. The call came five minutes later.
“So I’m looking at the stick and it looks wrong. There’s the bright blue line and then this faint pink one.”
“It worked. I guess I’m glad I canceled the ultrasound of your last ovulation.”
“What worked?”
“Willow, you’re pregnant.” Amusement filled Dr. Walston’s voice. “Wasn’t that the idea?”
“Seriously? One little pill for seven days and I’m pregnant?”
“Well,” the doctor hedged, “I think you should come in for a blood test, but yes, you’re probably pregnant.”
“When can I come in?” The eagerness in her voice delighted him.
“This is why I chose this specialty. Nothing is more exciting than to see someone finally get pregnant after months and sometimes years of waiting.”
“So that means what time?”
Dr. Walston laughed. “We’ll fit you in whenever you get in town. Come today. I’ll have Holly draw you.”
“Draw me why? What does that do?”
“Blood, Willow. Holly will draw blood, give it to the lab, and we’ll find out if Clomid was a ‘cure.’”
July 23—
I’m twenty-four today. It’s an amazing day for me. I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours (two twenty-fours, how interesting) trying to think of the best way to tell Chad that we’re going to have a baby. At first, I thought I’d do something with the test I took, but seriously, a stick full of urine? That’s just revolting. So then, I thought about knitting booties at the speed of lightning but I don’t really have any yarn soft enough for a baby.
I thought about telling Mom. After all, it might be kind of funny for her to tell him, but then I realized that I’d have to tell her first and that just seems a bit out of order. I know; I’m good at stating the obvious.
So instead, I’m debating between mailing a card, sending him a baby bouquet, or… oh, I have an idea. I’m just going to wait to see how long it takes him to read this. He’d better not take forever, or I’ll go crazy.
Meanwhile, Chad and Bill have spent the past two weeks discussing the expansion of the farm, the new barn, the necessary inspections, and such. I don’t understand half of what they’re talking about sometimes, but it feels really good when they have a question and I have the answer. I may not understand what they’re doing with my information, but at least I have the information we need. I feel less ignorant when I remember that.
July 24-
Oh, and in case Chad missed that part up there about the baby, I’m due in April. The doctor says around tax day. He called the baby “our little tax deduction.” I tried not to be insulted.
July 25- Perhaps I should put this on the kitchen table. Open. With the entry underlined.
July 26- And circled.
July 27- Highlighted? Seriously, I know it doesn’t usually take him this long to read my journals. He does it every other day or so. Chad… knock, knock? Are you in there? Read July 23. Read it twice if you need to. Oh, and if I was snappish earlier—ok, I was—it’s not pregnancy hormones. It’s just thwarted surprise irritation.
Chad awoke shortly after midnight and found Willow gone. A glance at the clock told him it’d go off in an hour for his next shift. He tried to turn over and go back to sleep but failed. Finally, he crawled out of bed and jogged downstairs.
Her journal lay open on her chest as she slept on the front porch swing. He smiled at the widened seat. That had been a stroke of genius, even if he did think so himself. Habitually, he pulled the journal from her arms and glanced at the last page open. Circled? What?
He read the next one. It made less sense so he flipped the page back one and read July twenty-fourth. Due? Baby? He flipped another page back and read about her plans for telling him. Chad laughed. She stirred, smiled in her sleep, and rolled over, her pen falling to the floor.
Chad hardly noticed. Grinning at the words on the page, he waffled between shouting for joy and shaking her for not telling him immediately. Finally, he pulled the summer quilt over her shoulders, whistled softly for Portia, and pointed at the swing when the dog climbed the steps.
“Watch, girl. Take care of her for me,” he whispered.
With a second, and then a third, glance back at her, Chad slipped back into the house and climbed the stairs. He didn’t sleep. Rather than catching the last hour of slumber before he had to get up and go to work, Chad lay in bed, staring at the half-illuminated ceiling and imagined pigtails and scuffed knees, buzz cuts in summer and pink snowsuits in winter. The fact that the faceless child changed genders faster than he could keep up with them didn’t matter to him—a baby.
Christopher answered the phone quickly. The last thing he wanted to do was let it wake Marianne prematurely. She’d just gotten over a nasty summer cold and had seemed out of sorts—not returning to her usually chipper self.
“Yes?”
“Dad? It’s me.”
“Chad? Isn’t it kind of early son?”
Laughing, Chad turned right onto the highway and headed toward home. “I’ve been watching the clock since just after midnight. I consider myself having nearly infinite patience.”
“What’s up?”
“Willow is pregnant. I just found out last night.”
It was Christopher’s turn to laugh. “Let me guess; you found out sometime just after midnight last night?”
“Elementary, my dear father.”
“Any idea when this baby is coming?” Christopher didn’t know whether to shout for joy or groan with the realization of coming estrogen-induced shopping trips, magazine purchases, and the incessant, if his years of parenthood were any indication, discussion of possible names.
“April.”
“You’ve got a name covered if it’s a girl then.”
“I’m not naming my daughter April!” The disgust in Chad’s voice was almost comical.
“I happen to like the name, but as long as you don’t call her Beech, Oak, Aspen, or Sycamore, I’ll be good.”
“Very funny. Grandpa. Tell mom to call Willow, will ya?”
“I have a better idea. Send that wife of yours to the door today wearing a large t-shirt and a pillow underneath, but be handy.”
“For what?” Chad was turning into the driveway and his mind somewhat distracted.
“To catch her if she faints.”
“Will do. Don’t tell her. We’ll leave after I get off work.”
“Can you get someone to handle night chores?”
After a moment of thoughtful silence, Chad answered. “Mmm hmm. I think so, why?”
“Plan to stay. Your mother is going to be over the moon, and she is not going to want to see you turn around and go home after just a couple of hours. Stop by the store on the way, and I’ll have a box of books, catalogs, and magazines to keep her happy for a while.”
“Your store carries books, catalogs, and magazines on babies?”
“Not all, no, but Fran will go get what I need for me if I buy her lunch.” Christopher checked his wallet as he spoke and added more cash from the cookie jar on the counter. This would be expensive, but worth it.
“Ok. Will do. I’m off
to find my wife. I haven’t told her I read it yet.”
“Huh?” The question never crossed the airwaves.
While Christopher stared at the phone, wondering what his son meant, Chad practically leapt from the cruiser and rushed into the summer kitchen where he expected to find, and did find, Willow straining the milk. “So, I hear our taxes get more complicated next year.”
Willow jumped at the sound of his voice, spilling milk all over the counter. “You hear?”
“Ok, I read. I can’t believe you’ve known since the day before your birthday and didn’t tell me.”
Soaked in milk, Willow cleaned the counter without a word. She sat the strained jars of milk in the fridge and scalded the pail. Once the rinse water cooled in the bucket by the back door, she stripped off her soaked clothes, dumped them on the washing machine, and peeked around the corner. With only the cruiser in sight, she dashed across the yard in her underwear and into the house. Chad followed, laughing.
“That’s what you get for holding out on me,” he called up the stairs. She’d skipped up them two at a time, but Chad took his time. He was still tired from interrupted sleep, excited about baby news, and trying to pretend to be affronted by her lack of shared information. “Are you sure about your dates?”
“Why?” Willow appeared in her favorite cropped shorts and the halter he loved now that he was free to enjoy it. Two summers ago, it’d had been an awkward moment or two when he’d arrived to find her half-dressed as she worked around the farm.
“Because you started going out of town two months ago. I assume you went to a doctor?”
“Yes, but I wasn’t pregnant two months ago. I’ve been pregnant for almost three weeks he said.”
“Soooooo,” Chad drawled as he tried to make sense of her sentences, “what were you doing at the doctor’s before that?”
“I went to see if anything was wrong with me.”
“By yourself! Why didn’t you tell me?” Though he knew he sounded irritated, Chad was truly just surprised.
“Because, I didn’t need more pressure to produce offspring.” Chad heard the strain in her voice and sighed.
“Can I do anything right?”
“What?” Willow didn’t seem to understand him. “I thought you’d be happy about it.”
“I’m thrilled, but I feel like a heel. I didn’t realize you still felt pressured to get pregnant.”
All angst diffused from the conversation as Willow laughed. “There isn’t another man alive who knows more about his wife’s body’s inner workings than you do mine.”
“That sentence is a bit tough to follow, but you’re probably right.”
She grabbed his sleeve and pulled Chad down the stairs behind her. “You need to eat your breakfast sandwich. It’s ready for you.”
“I called Dad.”
She spun on the step ,nearly falling as she did. “Already?”
“Well, mom has been anxious—” Her sigh was almost too quiet for him to hear. “What?”
“You know I love your mother, right?”
“Right.” He didn’t like how this started.
“It’s been difficult in regards to the baby thing. She was so excited when you thought I was pregnant before. Then she called every once in a while trying to ask, but not asking… and then there was Aggie’s pregnancy thing.” The dismayed look on Chad’s face made her hasten to reassure him. “No, Chad. I’m not angry. It’s just so much pressure. What if I was more infertile than I am—was? It makes me wonder if she would see me as some kind of failure.”
“It’s partly my fault,” Chad confessed. “I called when I thought you were pregnant. She finally called and asked me not to share information, because she knew she was being pushy.”
“When did you think I was pregnant?” Willow turned to get his food for him in the kitchen.
“When Ben said he took you to Rockland… and then you said you had a surprise and stayed overnight… well…”
She sat his plate in front of him and poured him a glass of milk. “Why do I have a feeling there’s more to it?”
“I checked the bank account online to confirm my suspicion. That’s why I think your dates are off. If you went in June…”
“I went to find out why I wasn’t conceiving. I saw Dr. Walston—”
“The obstetrician.”
“The infertility specialist.”
Nothing she could have said would have surprised him more. “You went to a specialist?”
“You brought home all that stuff about what might be wrong, so I thought it was important to you.” The bite of breakfast sandwich stuck in her throat as she said it.
“Lass, why didn’t you tell me? I could have gone with you.”
She attempted a chuckle but it sounded like a whimper. “Chad, you would have decked that doctor.”
“Why?”
“Let’s just say the things they have to do to find out what is going on…”
“Ahh…” he nodded understanding. “Pap smear and all of that?”
“You—” She bit off another large piece of sandwich and chewed furiously. “You knew they’d do that, and you let me—”
“Let you!” Chad was laughing now. “You went without telling me! How on earth did you expect me to warn you of anything?”
“Well, you do have a point…”
After several bites in silence, he asked, “So it was an infertility specialist. What did he find wrong? Endometriosis? Acidic environment? Short—”
“According to Dr. Walston, my body didn’t cooperate in making soup.”
“Making soup?”
“The egg didn’t drop.”
Chapter 13 2
The ride to Chad’s parents’ house started out with excited discussions of the birth in April, their plans for expansion, and how a baby would or wouldn’t alter those plans, and, much to Chad’s amusement, Willow’s insistence that they stop at her favorite yarn store for baby yarn to start a supply of booties and “soakers.” Half of what she said went over his head, but Chad good naturedly followed her into the store and watched as she chose the softest white yarns he’d ever felt. The other yarn she purchased seemed coarse in comparison.
“What is the difference?”
“This,” Willow answered rubbing the soft skein against her face, “Is for sweaters and booties and all that wonderful stuff next to the skin.”
“And that?” Chad poked at the other yarn thinking it was gravely inferior.
“Soakers. To cover the diapers. It has to be one hundred percent wool so the diaper doesn’t soak through.”
“Soak through? That is the diaper?”
“No, diaper cover.”
“Diapers leak?” Chad was confused. “I would have thought they’d design them better.”
“Mother started with plastic covers for mine, but then Mother Earth News had an article about making soakers out of felted old sweaters. I just thought I’d knit them and felt them instead of trying to find enough old sweaters.”
“But I know Aggie doesn’t have leaking problems with hers. Maybe diapers when we were little were unreliable, but these new ones seem to be better.”
Understanding dawned as Chad spoke. She grabbed the bag full of yarn and led him to the door. “I’m talking about washable diapers—not disposable. We can’t burn disposable ones, Chad.”
“Cloth diapers?” Why the idea surprised him, he didn’t know. If she washed her monthly pads, of course she’d use washable diapers. “I don’t like the idea of diaper pins. It’s horrifying. Truly horrifying.”
“I’ll think of something. Maybe snaps or Velcro or even buttons…”
As they drove through the streets of Rockland, Willow saw the street to the Women’s Center. “Dr. Walston’s office is down there. When we have the next ultrasound, you should come and meet him.”
Suddenly, the impact of all that Willow had done assaulted Chad. “I still can’t believe you went by yourself.”
“It didn’t mak
e sense to get your hopes up again—”
“I’d think that was my choice.”
“For over a year, I’ve been pressured by nearly everyone I’ve met to either be pregnant or to avoid it like the plague. Everyone seems to expect me to want a baby more than life itself or to insist that it’s too soon. Maybe if I’d been married for five or ten years and still hadn’t gotten pregnant—maybe then it’d make sense, but this is obviously another instance of ‘Willow is too backward to be normal about this stuff.’” She glanced at him briefly. “Frankly, I’m sick of it.”
“You’re not the only one involved here. What was I supposed to think when you didn’t come home that time—when Ray said he’d taken you to town…” Chad ground his teeth together in frustration. “When you said you had a surprise for me!”
“Has it really gotten to the place where the only surprise you wanted from me was a positive pregnancy stick? You’re kidding me, right?”
Shaking his head, Chad turned onto the main street in Westbury and wove sharply around a creeping car. “That’s not what I said.”
“It’s sure what it sounds like. I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to hand you a urine soaked, plastic covered, proof that you’ve passed on your genetic material. I’m sorry that I didn’t follow yet another conventional ‘norm’ and disappointed you. Again.”
“You’re being unreasonable, Willow! It was a logical assumption on my part—”
Willow cut him off mid-sentence. “And I think it was logical to find out what’s wrong before I dash all your paternal dreams. What if I’d been declared infertile? Would this argument be about what a failure I am in that area instead?”
Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 4 Page 23