Unsevered

by Traci Sanders

  “I’m glad you guys are with me today.” I say, pulling them away from their phones.

  “Of course, Jules. We wouldn’t miss it,” Chelsea says, as she looks up then returns to her phone.

  “I’m just happy you invited us. We were so worried about you for a while,” Gretchen adds.

  “I know. I’m sorry about shutting you guys out after Harley died. I just had to deal with it in my own way, you know?”

  The car gets silent as my friends pat my shoulders for reassurance. There’s really nothing more to be said about it.

  We park the car and walk into the office to check in. The room is filled with other expectant moms, some bursting at the seams. I wonder how big I’m going to get and if I’ll be waddling like a duck everywhere I go, what little walking I’m able to do, that is. Dr. Walsh took me off of bed rest but told me to continue taking it easy.

  The office is decorated in soft pinks and purples. I sit in a plush, caramel-colored chair and grab a pamphlet from the table beside me. They have one on every topic, from breastfeeding to vaginal implants. I even see one titled, ‘How to manage hemorrhoids during pregnancy.’ Say what? I’ve never heard about that being one of the symptoms. I make a mental note to read that chapter in my book when I return home today.

  A lady in purple scrubs greets us at the door and calls out, “Ms. Decker.”

  Mom, Chelsea, Gretchen, and I follow her down a hallway lined with photos of babies and pregnant women. The images are gorgeous and so lifelike. My pulse speeds up and the baby responds to my anxiety by turning flips. I pat my belly to calm it down. Man, I’ll be glad to find out the sex so I can stop calling my baby an ‘it.’

  We enter a small room where the purple-scrub-wearing lady informs us that it will just be a few moments before we begin as she hands me a pink gown that ties in the back. My entourage remains in the hallway for a moment while I change, then gesture for them to come back in by tapping the door twice.

  I take a seat on the reclining bed-chair and wait for the doctor to join us. The room is warm, but not too much, which is good because I’m always cold. There are more pictures of babies en-utero plastered on the walls, soft classical music is playing in the background, and a vase of purple lilacs are sitting on the desk beside the ultrasound equipment.

  “So, have you thought about any baby names?” Gretchen asks.

  “Well, if it’s a girl, I considered Abigail. It was Harley’s mom’s name. For a boy, I would definitely want him to have Harley’s name in there somewhere, but I haven’t decided what other name I like yet,” I reply.

  “Well, you have tons of babysitters if you need us,” Chelsea adds.

  “I may just take you guys up on that. I’m sure I’ll need a break every now and then, especially if I’m even half as tired as I am now.”

  I place my hands on my lower back, not that it relieves any of the pain. In just moments, I will meet my son or daughter and butterflies are dancing a ballet in my stomach. Mom senses my nervousness and squeezes my hand as she throws me an endearing smile.

  Before I can even gesture a “thank you” to Mom, a lady in a white coat enters the room and walks over to shake my hand. I estimate her to be in the late forties, perhaps even early fifties. For some reason this puts me at ease. I get the feeling she’s been doing this for many years. She has dark, tanned skin, brown eyes, and short reddish-brown hair.

  “You must be Jewel. I’m Dr. Ansley and I’ll be doing your ultrasound today. I understand you want to find out the sex of your baby. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, please. I am not one for surprises. Plus, my husband won’t be around to help me.” I don’t know why I felt the need to blurt that out.

  “Oh, does he travel a lot for business or something?”

  “No, he died in combat a few months ago.” I feel a lump in my throat as I speak these words, and immediately begin to think about Harley. For some reason, I go on to explain his absence, as if I need to defend him. “He would’ve loved to be here today, though I know he’d have given me a hard time about finding out the sex. I’m sure he would’ve wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “I see. I’m very sorry for your loss. Sounds like you had a wonderful man.” Her eyebrows droop and I can detect the sadness in her voice, almost as if she knows the exact pain I’ve been feeling since Harley died. I don’t ask about her situation because I want this to be a happy experience, but I can’t hold back all of my emotion.

  “The best.” I reply, as a single tear makes a slow path down my cheek. I wipe it away and inform Dr. Ansley that I’m ready to begin.

  “Okay. Lie back and relax. Place your feet in these stirrups.”

  My gown is raised and tucked under my breasts. A blanket is draped over my legs, beginning just under my tummy and extending all the way to my toes, so that just my tummy is exposed.

  “This gel may be a little cold at first. I want to check the baby’s heartbeat before we begin.”

  My ears tingle when that tiny little thump-thump fills the silence in the room. I am enamored by the moment, remembering the first time I heard it at my initial prenatal visit. Thank God, still beating strong.

  Then she begins to slide a sonography tool around on it, pausing every few seconds to click a button on the computer. I find out later that she was actually taking pictures of the baby during this process.

  When the image of my baby pops up on the screen, I am filled with all sorts of emotions, mostly joy. I burst into a laughing-cry, hard to explain.

  “Ah, we have a thumb sucker,” she says.

  “Harley was a thumb sucker,” I give a tearful reply.

  Mom rubs my hand as tears flood her face as well. Gretchen and Chelsea are mesmerized by what they are seeing. A mixture of sniffles and laughter fills the room.

  Then the doctor says, “Let’s see if we can get this little one to wake up and communicate with us. You said you’re about twenty-eight weeks, right?”

  “Yes, that’s what I measured at my last office visit.”

  She slides the tool around on my belly and presses gently on what appears to be the baby’s foot to get a reaction. Nothing.

  Then she tells me to try talking to the baby. This feels weird to me at first but I give it a shot.

  “Hello, my precious. Mommy is here. I can’t wait to meet you.”

  It’s as if the baby is sitting right in front of me when I say this. The thumb comes out of its mouth and its head turns toward the screen, as if looking right at me. It was as if it recognized my voice. At this point, I’m anxious to find out if I’m talking to my son or daughter.

  Thankfully, the baby stretches out both legs and we are able to see something pretty big in between. I’m no doctor, but I feel as if I know the sex right away.

  “Oh my God … is that … what I think it is?” My tears have returned and I think I’m going to hyperventilate.

  “Yes, ma’am. Congratulations, Ms. Decker. You’re having a boy.”

  “Are you sure? I mean, 100 percent sure.”

  I am such a skeptic and always want guarantees.

  “Well, there are no guarantees, but I’ve been doing this for about twenty years, and I’d say there’s a 99.9 percent chance you’re having a boy,” the doctor assures me.

  Mom, Gretchen, Chelsea and I can’t contain our excitement at this point and we all look at each other and scream out in unison. “It’s a boy!”

  We share more laughter and a few more tears. My son goes back to sucking his thumb but turns his head toward us every time I speak, as if he’s looking for me. It’s one of the most amazing things I’ve ever experienced.

  When the appointment is over, Dr. Ansley asks me who my favorite singer is and I reply, “Celine Dion.” She makes a note on her paper and lets us know we can pick up the DVD to take home at the front desk.

  We wait about twenty minutes and then the receptionist calls me to the desk to pick up my paperwork and DVD copy.

  “Dr. Ansley said to let you know t
hat there’s a surprise on the video for you. Have a great day,” the blonde says with a knowing smile.

  I can’t wait to get home to watch it all over again.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I’m exhausted when I walk through the front door back at home, but still anxious to see what the surprise is.

  “Jewel, have a seat on the sofa and I’ll get you a snack,” Mom says.

  She props my feet up on a pillow on the coffee table before walking to the kitchen. Chelsea loads the DVD in the player as Gretchen carries my bags and pamphlets to my bedroom. The video begins and all the women are back in the living room, glued to the TV screen.

  I see my son’s face on the screen and my heart melts again. I’m drying my tears when these words appear:

  You’ll be his first kiss, his first love, his first friend.

  You are his mama, and he is your little boy.

  Nothing can ever break that bond.

  It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I rub my belly thinking about the day I’ll be able to meet this wonderful little boy inside me.

  Music begins to play and my tears flow without shame. It’s a song by Celine Dion titled “Miracle.’’ My mom hands me a few tissues and then passes them around the room to my friends. It’s an emotional moment.

  Soon the video ends and we all look at each other and laugh at how sappy we are. Our mascara is running and our tissues are drenched. Truly a woman-bonding experience.

  Gretchen and Chelsea have to get back home, so we hug and plan our next get together. They are a little vague on the confirmation, so I know it’s probably going to be my “surprise” baby shower.

  * * * * * * * * *

  I’m thirty-two weeks along and as big as a house. I waddle everywhere I need to go. Mom was right. Even my yoga pants are a little uncomfortable now. Maternity clothes are the only option, unless I wear my pants below my belly, and that drives me crazy. Not happening.

  Apparently, the damage repaired itself. I can do gentle walking on the beach and occasionally go up and down the stairs, so Mom and Dan set me up in the guest room downstairs, which isn’t doing my ass any favors, but definitely helps with the exhaustion and back pain. I’m so thankful to have them here.

  I’ve finished reading the entire book of ‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting.” Needless to say, most of it was nothing like I expected, especially the childbirth part. I cross my legs tightly every time I think about it. My plan is to get an epidural as soon as possible. I have a high threshold of pain, but why suffer if technology can prevent it. I want to enjoy the experience.

  “Are you ready, honey?” Mom asks.

  We are making a random trip to the market to pick up some lemon-scented trash bags to “increase the happy vibes around here,” as she puts it.

  I grab my purse and prepare to leave. Mom sees my pony tail and says, “Why don’t you go curl your hair and throw on a little makeup before we go? You could use a little color.”

  She’s so obvious. I know the baby shower is today and she’s just trying to get me out of the house so my friends can set everything up. But again, I let her have the moment.

  We spend almost two hours shopping, as she wants to look at “one more thing” before we leave the store. My legs are tired and I am sitting on a bench in the shoe store, which by the way doesn’t even sell trash bags. Subtlety is not her strong suit.

  “Mom, can we please go now? My feet are aching and I just want to go lie down,” I beg.

  Mom’s cell phone rings. She walks away to take the call, totally conspicuous.

  “That was Dan. He’s getting worried about us so we’d better be heading home before it gets dark.” It’s 3:30 p.m. She’s adorable.

  * * * * * * * * *

  I walk through the door to, of course, “Surprise” being yelled out by all my friends and family. Thankfully, I estimate only about twenty people to be in attendance. I don’t like crowds.

  The room is decorated in blue and yellow streamers, and a banner hanging in the entrance way that reads, “It’s A Boy.”

  Within seconds, a couple of my military wife friends are congratulating me and, of course, still offering their condolences about Harley. I thank them for coming with a cordial smile and make my way around the room to greet the other guests. My dad and Susan are there, along with my little sisters, Ariel and Ashley. I give them all a hug.

  Ariel, who is five, asks, “Do you really have a baby in your tummy?”

  “I do. Would you like to feel him?”

  She nods with a smile plastered on her face, and I lay her hand on my tummy, hoping the baby will perform for her.

  He does and she squeals with delight. Ashley, who is only three, stays close behind her mom. She’s a shy one.

  Susan hugs me. “Congratulations, Jewel. I’m sorry we haven’t been able to visit much since Harley passed.”

  “It’s okay. I guess I’m about to find out just how busy mommyhood can be,” I assure her and we both laugh. Then she takes both girls by the hand and leads them to the backyard, their blonde curls bouncing as they walk away.

  “Daddy, it’s so good to see you.” I give him a bear squeeze.

  “You too, pumpkin. I’ve missed you.”

  The party continues with food and games. Then, I play the DVD for everyone. The room is consumed with endearing sighs and a few tears. The video ends and I begin opening gifts.

  More ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ fill the room as I open tons of of onesies and other baby clothes, and a diaper bag with a little airplane on it. Harley would have loved it.

  I glance up and my eyes fix on something behind the sofa across from the chair I’m sitting in. I can barely make out his face but would know that smile anywhere. He’s here.

  “Is everything okay?” My mom asks with concern.

  I’m brought back to the moment when I realize everyone else doesn’t know why I’m smiling. I look back and he’s gone. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just thought I saw someone ... uh, something.”

  Thankfully she brushes it off and the party continues.

  The best surprise of all is from my dad. He walks out of the room and walks back in pushing the most beautiful natural-wood baby crib.

  “Do you recognize this?” he asks.

  “It’s mine from when I was a baby.” Tears well in my eyes as I run my fingers along the top railing.

  “Yep. I had it completely restored and baby-proofed. A lot of things have changed with the new crib standards, apparently.”

  “Dad, it’s beautiful.” He does care. I hug him tightly and cry on his shoulder. I can’t stop wishing Harley was here to see all of this.

  The festivities finally end and I’m exhausted. Mom escorts everyone out the door by saying, “Okay, let’s let the mommy get some rest.” She’s really been my rock through so many things in my life.

  Before everyone leaves, she reminds them to fill out a list next to the door with their signatures and their choice of what they think the baby’s name will be. Wow, I still have to pick out a name for this little guy.

  Harley would be ecstatic to know he has a son. I’m certain he would want his boy have a respectable name, and I know Harley would want his father’s legacy to live on. I decide to combine both his and his father’s name as I rub my tummy and say to myself, “James Harley Decker.”

  * * * * * * * * *

  I’m seeing Dr. Brooks once a week now instead of once a month. My legs are swollen, my back aches, and this little boy inside of me insists on keeping his toes locked between my ribs – as if they are monkey bars or something. He’s a very active child. I don’t get much sleep at night because he moves around so much.

  Thanksgiving is around the corner, and I know I already have so much to be thankful for; but with only four weeks until my due date, I hope to have even more soon.. Fall was always Harley’s favorite time of year. I can picture how much fun he would have had teaching James how to carve a pumpkin and decorate the house for the holidays. Not ma
ny autumn leaves can be found near the beach, so I’ll have to take James to the park to see that.

  Mom and Dan help me set up the baby’s room after we assess all the shower gifts. We spend a day picking out a dresser, changing table and rocking chair that matches the crib my dad gave me. I figure I’ll probably keep little James in the room with me downstairs for a few months until I get my strength back, then we’ll both move upstairs. I gave Mom and Dan my room so I can take the one next to James when we make the transition.

  Mom and I go to a few Lamaze classes together. She’s a great coach. Not surprising since she comes from a large family of girls and has been in the delivery room many times with her sisters.

  The breathing exercises really seem to help me through my ‘fake labor pains,’ as the hospital referred to them the past two times I visited, certain I was in real labor. Screw that. Those things hurt! If real labor feels anything like that, I’m definitely getting an epidural, maybe two.

  Mom notices me inching around on the sofa. “Are you okay, honey?”

  “I hate being out of control of my own body. Everything I eat gives me heartburn and I can’t find a comfortable way to sleep. I toss and turn from side to side but no position lasts long. I’m ready for this pregnancy to be over.”

  “Every woman feels that way toward the end. It’s not much longer now.” She reassures me with a pat on my shoulder.

  Mom has said she will stay as long as I need her, but I know she’s ready to get back to her own house and own life soon. I’m not the easiest person to live with, especially when I’m feeling out of control in a situation. I’m bossy and emotional at best, and bitchy at worst. Thank God my mom already knows this about me and knows just how to handle it.

  * * * * * * * * *

  I’m finally in my last two weeks of gestation now and so ready for this baby to come. Thankfully my morning sickness stopped in my second trimester and the heartburn has improved, but I’m exhausted and nap several times a day. The doctor says I can safely deliver any day now, but that most first-time pregnancies tend to go past the due dates. I walk every day and bounce on my exercise ball to move the process along. I’m not a very patient person and I hate missing deadlines. Though my book is selling quite well—people just love tragic stories, I suppose—my writing has been put on hold because I have so much else on my mind. It’s all about D-day (delivery day) for me.