A Bump in the Road (6 page)

I sank down and sat on the kitchen floor, still unable to grasp what was happening. I thought I was hallucinating. I couldn’t comprehend the fact I was sitting on my kitchen floor, listening to Julie, while
pregnant
.

A thought raced through my head:
Does this mean there’s something growing inside of me?

Julie didn’t stop talking for two hours. I think she was afraid if she stopped talking, I’d flip out and start screaming and running around.

The horrible panic and vomiting had subsided, replaced by a comatose feeling of calm. I started thinking.
I can totally do this. I’ll wear designer clothes for a few months, have the kid, be skinny again and buy some baby stuff. I’m not going to be one of those frumpy moms who wears Christmas sweaters and breast-feeds their kid until age four
.

Julie continued on about celebrities with kids. “Reese Witherspoon! Her baby wasn’t planned and she’s this huge movie star with a gorgeous husband and a size-two body. Having a kid helped her career! Well, she and her husband did get divorced but you and Jake totally won’t get divorced so you’ll be like Reese Witherspoon but
better
!”

She shook my shoulder a little. “Clare? Clare? Are you OK?”

“Mmmm,” I responded.

“And don’t worry! Sex is going to be awesome for you! Did you know that being knocked up increases the blood flow to a woman’s hoo-ha? So, orgasms will be even better!” Julie flung her hands out.

I slowly turned my head and stared at her, silent. She sounded like her head was going to explode. Amazingly, I remained calm in my Zenlike hypnotic state.

“No, it’s true! One time I had to put a catheter in a pregnant woman and she got off from it. Shit! We all should be so lucky, right?”

I narrowed my eyes at her and she shut up. We sat silent on the kitchen floor, staring at the clumps of cat hair skittering by our feet like tumbleweeds across a Western plain. I realized the irony of my situation now, compared to the last time I sat on the kitchen floor. I couldn’t wrap my mind around what was happening. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Finding out I’m pregnant is supposed to be an exhilarating, thrilling, and
wanted
moment. But all I could feel was fear. Fear about how Jake would react. Fear about how I was supposed to react.

After several minutes, I cleared my throat. “Well, I guess—,” I started to say when I heard the front door open.

“Hey, Clare! Guess what? The liquor store was having a sale on that Riesling you like so I bought a case of it.” Jake was home.

I looked at Julie, my face going pale and forehead beginning to throb. The acid in my stomach churned again and I swallowed quickly to keep from getting sick again.

We both quickly peeled ourselves off of the kitchen floor and stood up just as Jake walked in.

“HI!” Julie yelled, making Jake jump a bit.

Jake’s eyes shifted from Julie to me. “Hey. What’s going on?” he asked.

I’m not sure what tipped him off, Julie’s fake high-pitched voice or my inability to lift my pale and sweaty face and meet his eyes.

Or maybe it was because both of us were covered in an inch of dust and cat hair from the kitchen floor.

“What’s going on?” he asked again.

I wasn’t going to say anything. I figured Julie could tell him.

But that damn bitch smiled and said, “Well! Gotta run! Call me later!” and kissed me on the cheek and clocked Olympic-sprinter speed running to the front door.

It’s already happening. People have already started to ditch me since I’m pregnant.

Jake took a step toward me and tried to grab my hand but I pulled it away. I knew if he touched me I’d fall apart.

“Please tell me what’s going on.”

I waited a few seconds until I knew I could speak without sounding squeaky. “Let’s go over here,” I said, and pointed to the couch. We sat down and I saw his hands shaking.

“I have some news and I don’t want you to freak out. It will be OK.”

He nodded slowly, and I could see his right eye twitching slightly.

“It’s no big deal but I took a test today and, um, it wasn’t negative.”

I studied his face for a reaction and all I saw was confusion.

“For what?”

“What?”

“Not negative for what?”

“Jake, it wasn’t negative for, um, pregnancy.”

He leaned back and his look of shock almost broke my heart.

“What?” he finally whispered.

“Yeah, apparently we are going to have a baby.” I could barely say the word “baby.”

Long pause.

“I guess I should return that case of wine I just bought.”

It was a start.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

We sat there in silence for several more minutes. I twisted my hands in my lap, the fear tightening its grip on my shoulders. I was afraid I ruined the moment. I was afraid I was expected to lead the way and act happy and excited. I was afraid he’d ask me if we should keep the baby.

“Are you OK?” I asked.

“I’m fine.”

It must’ve been the Zenlike comatose state.

Around midnight, after five hundred and eighty-seven more “fine”s, Jake broke down. He started sweating and asking questions about Scary Things like day care, breast-feeding, money, and who is
going to baby-sit during the annual St. Patrick’s Day Pub Crawl. I certainly didn’t have any of the answers. After exhausting every angle, our heads were about to explode, so we watched the Weather Channel for an hour and went to bed.

God, we’re already acting like parents.

3:00
A.M
.

Neither of us slept much. I desperately wanted to, in dramatic fashion, fling myself down on the bed and curl into a ball, but I knew if I let my emotions out of the corner of my brain where they were so tightly bound, I’d never be able to rein them back in. I’d walk around for the rest of my life as an emotional wreck, unable to process my sudden loss of freedom. I’d be an elderly old lady, yelling at the kids who stepped on my lawn, “Get off my property, you punks. Did you know I got pregnant when I was on BIRTH CONTROL? DO YOU KNOW THAT CAN HAPPEN?” and they’d say of course they did and spit on my daffodils.

So, I’ve chosen to remain not completely in denial, but really fucking close.

I woke up in the middle of the night thinking,
It was a horrible nightmare. Yes, dreamt all of it, like the time I dreamt that the Backstreet Boys called me up to ask if Jake could be a member but I said no because he had to make pancakes for the cat. Maybe it is a secret lesson designed to make me appreciate my youth? I dreamt all of it
.

Except I knew it wasn’t a dream. I could feel Jake throwing himself around in bed, making it obvious he was awake, meaning he wanted me to talk to him. But I couldn’t. I was too scared and freaked out.

Sometime in the morning, Jake poked me and whispered, “You awake?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“Not really,” I mumbled.

“Oh. Okay.”

I rolled over and snuggled against Jake’s back and wrapped my
arm around him. I buried my head in his T-shirt and breathed in the smell of Tide Ultra. He put his hand over mine and brought it to his mouth and kissed it.

I want to freeze everything right now, when things are quiet
.

I know things are going to be different. I know we’re about to go down the rabbit hole and the whole universe is going to kick us in the ass
.

I took a deep breath and gave him a little squeeze. “I love you,” I said.

“I love you, too,” he whispered back. “You know I want to keep the baby, right?”

“You do?” I lifted my head off the pillow a little.

“I do.”

“I’m scared, but me too,” I said, my voice wavering.

“It’s going to be great,” he said.

We finally fell asleep.

I can’t help but feel like I’m on a roller coaster that just pulled out of the station. The car hasn’t even gone over the first hill, but I’m already ready for it to be over.

I don’t have any philosophical reasoning why all of this is happening, but I know we’re stuck for the ride.

Julie left a million messages on my cell phone but I’m not ready to talk to her yet. She’ll just ask me a bunch of questions I don’t have the answers to and name more knocked-up celebrities. And forget about telling my parents or, God help me, Jake’s parents. No, I’m not ready to share this info yet. I’ll tell them eventually, like right after I deliver.

“I’m just fine, Marianne. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you, I birthed a child earlier. Congratulations! You’re a grandma! Yes, I’m going back to work and no, I’m still not changing my last name.”

I can’t even think about this right now. Work, I must focus on work right now.

11:30
A.M
.

Mule Face totally knows. I can feel it. When I saw her in the conference room, she glanced at my stomach. Why would she do that? I bet she knows. It would be so typical of her. She probably went through my trash last night and found the seven pregnancy tests I took, praying that one, just one would come up negative, meaning I could disregard all of the other positive ones and have a cocktail. But those little buggers came up positive each time.

2:00
P.M.

Google. Google is my friend. (I had to break up with my old best friend, Belvedere vodka. I told him I’d write and in nine months, we could totally hang.) I’m going to Google “pregnant tips” and the learning will begin.

2:06
P.M.

I’m super pissed off. It’s amazing how hard it is to even get pregnant. The average woman (who is
not
on the pill) has a less than 25 percent chance each month of conceiving even if everything is timed perfectly. Which makes me the most fertile asshole on the planet. I should become an infertility counselor. I’d tell people all they have to do is take birth control pills while on antibiotics. Hmmm . . . I might be on to something. Maybe I can invent a new fertility treatment. The money would certainly help with the upcoming diaper expenses. It might also help fund a personal trainer, tummy tuck, and breast lift. I checked those prices, too.

4:00
P.M.

I must update my blog, although I have no idea what to write about. Maybe I can do a random mundane entry about my extreme distaste for bulk-shopping grocery stores. It has to be somewhat coherent, since my last entry was written at two in the morning on Friday and titled “Crann3p#ples Rules!”

Still in shock, Jake and I went to an Italian restaurant for dinner last night. I hoped the public setting would eliminate the possibility of sudden crying jags or flipping out. We tried to talk about things other than the pregnancy, but the conversation sounded something like this:

“So, Jake. How’s work?”

“Fine, Clare. Thanks for asking. How’s your work?”

“Splendid.” I swear, I almost said it with an English accent. “Your sweater is very lovely, Jake.”

“Thanks, Clare. You look very nice yourself.”

Five minutes of polite conversation, and I cracked. I put my hands up to my face and said, “What are we going to do?”

“Nothing,” Jake said simply.

“What?” I peeked in between my spread fingers.

“There’s nothing to do. We just need to accept it and plan accordingly.”

“How can you be so calm about this?”

Jake shrugged. It was so like him to be the rational one.

“But what about money and day care and the fact that we have no idea how to be parents?” I moaned.

“Like we said the other night: we’ll figure it out.”

“Haumph. You’re way too OK with all of this.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m freaked out, too. I’m just keeping it to myself. One of us needs to keep you away from the ledge.”

I glared at him. I started to retort, but I was distracted by a waiter walking by with a glass of red wine. I immediately became depressed and desperately wanted to jerk my hand out, grab the glass, and down it. I settled for shoveling a huge bowl of pasta into my mouth. I rationalized it was for the baby—the one huge benefit of pregnancy.