Are you my Baby?

Another checkup, more waiting.  She was used to these waiting rooms. The strong antiseptic smell from the maintenance worker mopping the floor was beginning to make her feel nauseas. She replayed in her mind the journey of how to get to the fresh air. Down the hall, left turn, down the hall, right turn, elevator. She glanced at her watch; appointment was supposed to start twenty minutes ago. 

There was no time for fresh air. 

She fumbled in her purse for some gum, anything to take her mind off the smell and this silent waiting. So many pregnant women, so many babies. It has been said that a baby is born every second, or at least she thinks she heard that somewhere before. She recently read that the birth rate in the United States is declining. She is well read on anything pertaining to birth and babies. She has desperately been waiting to be a mother for years and quite accustomed to waiting.  

She picks up a magazine left on the side table, Your Pregnancy is written in white bold letters along the top. A woman in her early thirties, probably around seven months pregnant is flashing a large smile as she rests one hand on her protruding belly. Her other hand is holding a champagne glass. Written is the small caption, 10 best mock-tail recipes to celebrate the New Year! The magazine is old, it is spring, almost summer now. She still fumbles through the pages and sees an article, Must Haves for Sweet Dreams: Next Year’s New Nursery Trends. It reminds her of when her husband, Erik, decorated their nursery.  

Working on home projects was one of their favorite ways to spend time together and this project would be the start of something new - a start to their next chapter together. A nursery. Years ago, when they bought their first home, it came with many projects and a family fight. 

Erik worked with his father and brother at their family business, Hudson Homes. They built new homes all over Southern California for over fifty years.  Erik’s father was so upset that they did not purchase a Hudson Home that he did not even attend their housewarming. It was a miracle he showed up for the Thanksgiving feast they hosted the following year, where they showed off their latest project, renovating the family room and kitchen. 

All their guests were complimenting them on their choices, classic subway tile backsplash, along with their brave choice of two tones cabinets. The top cabinets were white and the lowers were a cool light grey, accenting the grey sparkle in their white marble counter tops.

“We could have done this for you in a Hudson home,” his dad grumbled, opening the cabinets, disapproving of the countertops and trying to find a flaw.  

She was so proud when Erik replied, “This is a Hudson Home. It’s our Hudson Family home.” 

The main appeal for choosing their 1974 ranch home was the location. Their neighborhood, though not far from several Hudson Home developments, had mature trees, charming streetlamps, and parkways. They had a large yard that was big enough for a swing set and possibly a pool.  Amenities that many of the new communities lacked.

“I don’t’ want to live in a cookie cutter home; on plot the size of a postage stamp,” Erik told his dad, over what was supposed to be a celebratory dinner.

They invited Erik’s parents over, both divorced but thankfully still friends, which made these moments easier on their boys, to share good news of their offer being accepted. Natasha knew that Erik thought this would be the moment his dad would accept he was not going to pick a plot in their new home phase. It wasn’t the moment he had wanted, instead his father grumbled something.

You are going to have nothing but issues with an old home like that. You’ll wish they were covered by the Hudson Home warranty.

The conversation changed, and besides, his mom bought them a round of drinks, giving a toast, to your happiness and the celebration was over before it began.  

Years passed in their new home, along with new projects – a gorgeous master bath with a walk-in shower, knocking down walls and giving Natasha the closet of her dreams, just by sacrificing the shoe box-sized fourth bedroom. They even created built-ins for the office; cute cubbies for Natasha’s yarn and knitting hobby. They filled drawers and bookshelves with Erik’s paperwork as he mainly worked from home now for their business. The further away from his father the better.

It was finally time to design their nursery. They ripped up the lime green and orange speckled shag carpet and transformed that last untouched room. It would be their best project yet, Natasha thought, because her dreams were finally coming true. It would be the perfect storybook ending. She would be a mama.

She read magazines that were somewhat similar to Your Pregnancy, spending hours on Pinterest, following the most stylish bloggers.  The result turned out spectacular - Soft butter walls adorned with crown molding, whitewashed wood flooring peeking out from under a large grey rug with yellow polka dots. The nursery furniture was custom built with a large gallery sized painting -a grey elephant holding a yellow balloon in his trunk with a small baby elephant at her side. 

She could tell Erik was not too keen on the elephant and balloon theme at first. He was pushing for a nautical theme. He had shown her a bedding set from Babies R Us with anchors, starfish and crabs. It was cute, but did not seem gender neutral for Natasha, so she begged for the Elephants with Balloons theme. The name on the bedding might have not sounded so grand, but it was adorable, Kids Love Balloons. 

Natasha jested him as she filled the cart with a diaper stacker, bedding set and a box containing an elephant lamp.

“You know I love elephants.”

He smiled and that was it. She could imagine herself rocking her newborn, in their perfect serine haven. They even splurged on a custom wing backed glider, so she could rock away in style and comfort, softly singing in her ear, the songs of her youth.

Her grandma’s lullabies were the best. She recalled them, replaying them in her mind as they helped her relax during anxious times, times such as these. One tune that replayed in her mind went like this…

Grandma loves baby. Baby loves Grandma. Yes, her do! It was to the tune of Frere Jacques. 

As Natasha set the magazine down, she did not realize she was quietly humming the tune. A nurse came out and called a name which was not hers, but it was the women sitting next to her and the woman she brought with her that day. 

“Emily, Emily Esquivel,” the nurse said again.

“I’m coming,” Emily flatly responded, slowly rising from the chair.

Natasha gets up and follows, herself not pregnant. She was the “prospective adoptive parent” as it’s referred to in the paperwork in her purse, from her lawyer, granting medical access to any information pertaining to the baby when she is born. Knowing it could be any day now, he advised them to keep copies with them at all times. Evidently there should be one in Emily’s file, but he mentioned sometimes there can be a slip up. She is used to slip ups, they seem to occur often in her life.

“How are you feeling Emily?”  the nurse asked Emily as she waddled past the open door.

“Fine,” Emily grunts back as she types away on her cell phone.

Natasha floats in behind as a ghost, scared to make a sound, or she will be noticed and asked once again who she is and why she belongs here. Did she belong? She wonders to herself. 

Thinking back to the day she met Emily, and her saying she choose Natasha and her husband from a stack of books to parent her child because they liked the Lakers. Emily saw a photo of the two of them, Natasha and Erik in front of the Staples Center with smiles on their faces, back when they still felt they could conquer the world. Thinking, parenthood would happen easily for them. 

Sitting in the corner of the office, Natasha realized her invisibility cloak must be working. She sat there, patiently waiting as the doctor searched for the heartbeat. The words of Emily and the doctor fade away, all she hears is the consistent and strong, whooshing and thudding of the heartbeat of a baby she cannot see, but who will soon be in her arms.

“Due date coming up close, six weeks away,” the doctor chats with Emily. 

Natasha thinks about how different her life will be in these next few weeks. She would be celebrating a birthday within that time as well, the big 3-0. The baby’s growth has slowed, making the pregnancy considered now to be high risk as Emily needed weekly stress tests and visits. Emily told her she was no longer using drugs, and the baby coming early seemed that it could be a blessing. Perhaps, Natasha thought, she would be a mother on her birthday. What a gift that would be.  

“Are you ok?” Emily asked, seeming annoyed.  

“Yes, I’m fine,” Natasha replied, almost a whisper. 

Realizing tears are slowly streaking her flushed cheeks, she sits up tall. Feeling as she has been disciplined, she doesn’t want Emily to feel annoyed or upset.  

“Baby girl is doing well today,” the doctor ignores the recent awkward exchange between them and continues, “Do you have a name picked out?” 

He slides the wand over her belly, displaying the floating baby on the screen, realizing the benefits of ultrasounds.

Natasha doesn’t respond to the doctor, reaching in her purse for a tissue when she softly pats the tears on her face, waiting for Emily to answer with the baby’s name.

“Ask her,” Emily says, nodding her head Natasha’s direction.

“Leia,” she says, suddenly finding her voice, and saying it slightly louder and more confident than she had planned. “That’s right,” Emily continued, nodding her head. “Leah.”

Natasha did not correct her. Every visit, every appointment they have explained the pronunciation of Leia, like in Star Wars, not Leah, like the Bible. She has learned to pick her battles. Just then the doctor hands Emily the ultrasound strip, and without glancing at it, she hands the strip to Natasha. You could feel the friction in the room during what should be a magical moment.

Natasha stares at it while they wrap up the appointment. Voices only between patient and doctor, questions asked and answered that she has never once been in the position to answer or ask. She simply stares at the strip of photos, long and hard. Searching for a hidden picture to emerge. It reminded her of the Magic Eye books she loved as a child. She quietly whispered to the strip of photos.

“Are you my baby?” 

******************

Thank you for reading the first chapter of my upcoming novel, "Are you my Baby?"