“Ligaya?” The nurse’s voice is shrill to my ears.
Shit, I’mnotready.
“That’s me,” I say weakly.
“Are you waiting for the father?”
“No, I am not.”
I follow the nurse into a dim room to find the sonographer waiting. In a steady, professional tone, Annie informs me that she works directly with my OB-GYN.
“Go ahead and lie down, Ligaya. Please lift your shirt and lower your waistband. You can keep your underwear on. Just enough to expose your lower abdomen.”
This feels very vulnerable, even without stirrups or a speculum. Stretched out on the table, I make a note to Google searchDo babies know if you’re scared?andCan anxiety give your fetus trust issues?
“The tech forgot to warm the gel, so it’s a tad uncomfortable,” she warns. She’s not kidding. The second it hits my stomach, I let out a squeaky gasp like someone dropped an ice cube down my pants.
“Ligaya!” The door swings open and crashes against the stopper with a bang.
I squeak again.
“I’m here,” Tristan announces while rushing to my side dramatically, like he’s storming a castle.
“Does it hurt? Shit, I didn’t think an ultrasound would hurt that badly!”
I roll my eyes. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“You sounded like they were gutting you.” His eyes are wide, hair ruffled in a ridiculously sexy way.
“And you know that soundhow?”
He shrugs. “Deduction.”
“Calm down, Sherlock. The gel is freezing.”
Annie clears her throat, and we both look at her apologetically.
“I’m Tristan,” he tells her with a friendly smile. “Sorry I’m late. Practice went longer than expected, and traffic from Columbus was nuts.” His voice is too loud for the small room.
“Sir,” Annie says with a stern edge that suggests she has wrangled worse. “Are you the father?”
He nods, looking down at me and glancing at my belly covered in icky cold gel. I prop myself up on my elbows and deadpan, “We’re done, actually. It turns out I’m giving birth to dragons.”
Annie chuckles. “You haven’t missed anything,” she addresses Tristan.
She presses the mic shaped tool to my stomach and starts sweeping it slowly across the gel. I turn my attention to the monitor, heart in my throat. The black-and-white image flickers, a blurry snowstorm of shadows and shapes.
Suddenly, there it is.
“That,” she says, pointing to the blob fluttering steadily inside the larger blob, “is your baby’s heartbeat.”
Everything inside me goes still. My baby blob is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
She tilts the tool slightly. Her eyebrows lift.
“Huh,” she murmurs. “Hang on.”
Hang on?
