Authors: Kim Holden
Sitting on the edge of the tub is uncomfortable, but it affords me the most space, within the confines of the tiny bathroom, I can put between myself and the pregnancy test perched precariously on its box inside the sink basin. I swear the walls are moving, closing in on me, as the last minute of the five ticks by. Time’s up. I give the second hand another trip around the dial before I stand.
My legs feel like rubber. I’m feeling that strange dizzy feeling again, and the knot in my stomach seems to have expanded. I take two short steps to the sink, but my eyes refuse my brain’s command to look in the sink. My eyelids pinch together tightly, and I wonder momentarily if I’ll ever be brave enough to open them. I place my shaky hands firmly on the countertop, where the trembling isn’t as noticeable. That gives me strength. I breathe two deep inhales and exhales, tip my head down directly over the sink, and …
On the count of three I’ll open my eyes, I tell myself.
“One.”
“Two.”
“Three …”
“Four.”
“Five.”
“Six …”
Another deep breath …
Open. I see the symbol. It’s glaring, bright, and bold. It’s unmistakable, undeniable …
I’m pregnant.
We’re pregnant.
Ten separate emotions bombard me simultaneously, each distinct and palpable, appealing their case: fear, hope, apprehension, relief, guilt, excitement, shock, joy, denial, and humility. They roar against one another in a tempest and a lone survivor evolves and emerges … acceptance.
I can deal with this. I
have
to deal with this. There’s a tiny human being growing and multiplying deep inside me at this very moment. And I swear, now that I know, now that it’s been confirmed, I feel different. I feel pregnant. I know I can’t feel the baby, but I
feel
the baby
. It’s there, and it’s
ours
.
What will Dimitri’s reaction be? There’s only one way to find out.
“Dimitri, can you come here please?” my voice quivers.
His voice comes immediately from the other side of the door. “I’m here.” I should’ve known he’d be waiting outside; I’ve been in here for a long time. He’s probably worried, especially with my strange behavior earlier.
I open the door slowly.
“Is everything okay?” he asks, his voice heavy with worry.
I shrug. “That depends.” I attempt a smile.
Not the right answer, he’s beyond concerned now. “Depends on what?”
I glance down at the test and box still lying in the sink. “Depends on whether or not—” I pause, looking back into his eyes. “—you’re ready to be a father.”
He takes two big steps back from me, his body hitting the wall behind him with a soft thud. He slides down slowly until it slumps in a heap on the floor. His face rests in his palms.
I suck it a sharp breath and reach toward him. I don’t know what I expected him to say, but we’re probably both in shock. This is unexpected to say the least; it’s life changing.
He rubs his eyes, and at this sign of movement I kneel next to him and rub his back. “Dimitri, I—”
Before I can continue he wraps his arms around me so tightly that I can hardly breathe. His face rests against the base of my neck and all I register besides the strength of his embrace is the wetness of his cheeks. He’s crying. I feel it rippling through him like waves.
His grip on me lets up to a comfortable embrace, and I stroke his hair. “I’m sorry Dimitri. I should have been more careful.”
He pulls back instantly at my words and looks into my eyes as if he’s searching, so anxious he can’t contain himself. “Sorry … you’re
sorry
?”
I nod as confusion takes over.
He grips my shoulders and, although it seems impossible, the look in his eyes intensifies. “This is quite possibly the single most significant bit of news I have
ever
received, and for me that’s saying a lot. Ronnie, I never in a million years thought I would be a father. I had a severe case of the mumps as I child, and sterility is the consequence I live with. At least that’s what the doctors have always told me. And you’ve always wanted a child—the one thing I couldn’t give you …” His voice trails off. The tears are shining brightly in his eyes. “By some miracle I can’t understand, we’ve been blessed with a child. The last thing you should be is sorry. Today we are the two luckiest people on the planet.” He places his hand tenderly on my stomach. “I love you, Ronnie. And I promise to be the best father I can be.”
I’m crying now, too. I feel happy, and relieved. I hadn’t realized how much I wanted him to say those words. “You will be, baby. You’ll be amazing.”
The pregnancy immediately takes over our lives and becomes the most important thing in our world. Sunny’s world, too—from the moment she hears the news, which is about one hour after we find out, she wins the prize for proudest, most enthusiastic grandparent-to-be. Sebastian, after being roused out of shock, is thrilled for us. I suppose he knew about his brother’s condition and thought biological fatherhood would be impossible, too.
Doctor’s appointments become yet another piece to fit into the complex puzzle that is my busy schedule. Sunny insists I cut back my hours at her studio, which makes everything much more manageable. If only it relieved morning sickness and a constant state of fatigue, I’d be golden.
By the third month, my nausea subsides and my waistline begins growing noticeably. I can no longer hide it—and even my favorite, loose sweat pants don’t fit anymore. Dimitri is absolutely, obsessively in love with my belly. Every night when we go to bed he lays with his head resting on my ever-growing midsection. He listens to the gurgles and talks to the baby. It’s sweet, especially since I can’t feel the baby moving yet myself.
At the halfway point of the pregnancy, twenty weeks, we have an appointment for an ultrasound to determine the sex of the baby. It is now only a week away, and I can’t wait. There are lists and preparations to be made. I know some people want to be surprised at the birth, but I feel a deeply rooted need to have everything decided, planned, and purchased at least one month prior to my due date (which is November 16th). I’m neurotic and I know it, but I’m proud of it at this point in my life. There are already enough unknowns that come along with bringing a baby into this world. Those still scare the hell out of me, so you better believe anything and everything that’s under my control
will
be under control by the time this baby makes an appearance.
The subject of names has come up a few times, but it never went anywhere. I thought Dimitri’s boy names weren’t unique enough, or if they were unique they were just too weird. And he said my girl name sounded like a prostitute. After that we didn’t discuss it again. We refer to the baby only as “Baby.” The subject is put to rest for a month or so until the night before the ultrasound.
I’m lying in bed propped up against several pillows and Dimitri, as is his ritual, is lying with his face toward me, his head resting just over my belly button. His hand is massaging the area of my belly just in front of his nose (he jokes it gives him good luck). He’s looking at me. “Are you going to be disappointed if Baby isn’t a boy?”
“Yep, and I’m blaming it all on you. Father determines sex, right?” I raise my eyebrows and he knows I’m kidding. “Growing up I always pictured myself having one child, a boy. But, you know what? After carrying Baby around for a few months and enjoying every moment, good or bad, of this miracle that is taking place inside me, I really don’t care. A boy or a girl would be equally… exceptionally … wonderful.”
He smiles. “Good. That’s how I feel, too.”
We enjoy the silence for several minutes until I notice that Dimitri is staring intently at the painting hanging behind me over the bed. He stops rubbing my belly and asks, “Have you given anymore thought to names?”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t think I’m ready to burden myself with the guilt of perpetuating career choice in the direction of solicitation or stripper. So no, no I haven’t.”
He laughs; clearly he remembers the prostitute comment. “We agree it has to be unique though, right?”
“Yes.”
“But not
weird
unique, like outrageous spellings that no one would ever figure out?”
“Yes.”
“And it would be nice if it meant something to us, if it was special?”
“Of course that would be nice,” I say.
He returns his gaze to the painting, “I think I have the perfect name, boy or girl. It’s unique and special and has significance to us.”
I follow his eyes, turning my head so that I can see the painting on the wall behind us. We say it in unison, “Phoenix.”
“Phoenix,” I repeat quietly. He smiles hearing me say it aloud. “I love it,” I say. And I do.
“I do too,” he says, kissing my belly.
“Plus, there’s a good story to go along with it,” I say, winking.
He narrows his eyes. “You mean, aside from the awesome painting and tales of fantastical birds that rise from their ashes to live again?”
I tilt my head and look at him suspiciously. “Actually I was thinking of the story that involves a fantastical city that rises from the desert. You know, the one where your baby was conceived?”
He winks. “Aha, there is that, too.” He presses himself up and sits beside me, taking my hand in his. “Here’s to fantastic experiences, fantastical cities,
and
fantastical birds.”
I smile. “Phoenix it is then, boy or girl.”
We arrive at the doctor’s office the next day anxious to find out if our Phoenix is a he or a she. Apparently Phoenix is ready too, because I feel Baby moving for the first time. I’ve pulled my shirt up, and a technician has applied generous amounts of slimy gel to my belly. The technician places a cold instrument to my skin. It’s attached to a twisty cord that runs up to a machine with a display screen. After a few blips and blurry lines, an alien-like figure appears on the screen. The sight is more emotional than I was prepared for, and tears emerge from my wide eyes. The figure is our baby, complete with little fingers and toes. I watch in awe as Phoenix moves on the screen. The technician looks for critical information first, taking measurements and tracking development of organs and bones. We are relieved to hear everything looks perfect.
The technician looks at us, smiling, and verifies, “You would like to know the sex if I am able to determine it, is that correct?”
We both nod, holding our breath.
She repositions the instrument and Phoenix moves to reveal his anatomy. There’s no mistake. I see it before she confirms, “Well, it’s pretty obvious …” she begins to say, smiling.
Dimitri is tilting his head back and forth squinting at the screen. “Obvious? I can’t even tell what we’re looking at here.”
In his defense, the image is very grainy and blurred, and Phoenix is upside down. The technician points to the screen at a specific area, and says, “You’re having a little boy.”
His eyes widen in realization. “Oh …
Oh! We certainly are!
” He squeezes my hand and we both cry little sobs of joy, staring at our tiny little one on the screen.
• • •
My tears have dried by the time we get to the car. Dimitri opens the car door for me and helps me in. Getting in and out of the Porsche is not as easy as it once was. He climbs in next to me, but doesn’t start the car. He just stares at me and his eyes are radiant.
I return the smile. “So, we’re having a baby boy.”
He leans over and kisses me on the lips, then leans down to kiss my belly once again. “Phoenix William Glenn, we love you.” He sits up and places hands on either side of my face, “Veronica Josephine Smith-Glenn, I love you,” and he kisses me again.
“Phoenix William?” I ask tentatively. Suddenly I’m flooded with emotion. I feel as though I may burst.
He nods and confirms confidently, “Phoenix William.”
Twenty weeks later, Phoenix William arrives as foretold on his due date, November 16th, five days after Dimitri’s birthday. I struggle through twenty hours of labor without the aid of drugs (I’d been determined to have the child without them), but it is without a doubt the most empowering hours of self-discovery I have ever experienced. The pain is other-worldly, and time is in a state of suspense, but getting through it with Dimitri at my side is one of the proudest moments of my entire life. And we are rewarded with the ultimate prize—a beautiful, healthy baby boy with an angelic face, a head full of dark hair, the most perfect pink lips I’ve ever seen, and a serious set of lungs. He’s precious, a gift … and he’s ours.
Life is sometimes … a gift.
Phoenix is a gift, and has been the most incredible addition to our family over the past eighteen years. It’s moved faster than I thought possible, and suddenly, here I am thinking back on it all.
Ever the perfectionist, I wanted to make sure that every detail of my child’s life was as perfect as possible from the very beginning. I was prepared—or so I thought—to be that perfect mother. As much as I thought I had prepared myself, I was reminded at breakneck speed that motherhood, like so many other things, cannot really be planned for, and was completely out of my control. Sure, I read books, took classes, and talked to Sunny, the whole time thinking, “I’ve got this under control. I can do this. People become mothers every day. It can’t be that hard, right?”
Wrong. I was delusional.
Hospitals should start posting signs that read “Godspeed” (or maybe just “Good Luck – you’re going to need it!”) at the exits of the labor and delivery ward.
Despite the challenges of caring for and raising a child, there’s nothing else that compares to the pure joy they bring to you as a parent. The love I feel for Phoenix? There aren’t words to accurately describe it. “Love” simply doesn’t seem like a big enough word.
Phoenix loved music from the very beginning. His swing sat next to the piano and he loved listening to Dimitri or I play for him. (He turned out to be a big fan of Beethoven, too. Good thing I learned to play a few of his songs.) Late at night as Phoenix got older, I frequently heard the sounds of acoustic guitar coming from his room—the sounds of Dimitri playing him to sleep. It worked just about every time. For me too, God I love acoustic guitar.