ch.4: sorrys and sons and statistically improbable medical occurrences

ha remember when i said i was going to update this regularly? me too sorry i suck

anyways pls comment/review/like/favorite/all that fun stuff and follow me on tumblr amirmitchell thx

"What if they don't know the sex? What if they can't tell because the baby's all twisted up?"

"Maya, I'm sure that it'll all work out."

"What if our baby doesn't have a spine? That happens, y'know."

"...You've seen our baby's spine."

"Oh... Well, what if it disappeared?"

"Maya..."

"I know. I know. I'm over thinking and creating impossible scenarios that end in the death of our child again. I'll stop."

Again.

You chuckle a bit because it's going on three consistent months of her coming up to you at random moments and rattling off some condition that Lucas Jr. isn't going to have once he finally pops out. It's been nothing but "Lucas, what if the baby doesn't have a tongue?", "Lucas, what if the baby goes breach and they accidentally rip its head off and I have the decapitated skull of my almost born child hanging between my legs for the rest of my life?", "Lucas, do you think that he'll find love with no limbs and only half of a heart?", etc. since the first ultrasound weeks ago from her. Honestly, you find it almost exhausting, but the knowing look that she gets afterwards before apologizing is so damn adorable that you let it slide.

It's just jitters you hope will be (at least partially) eased after ultrasound appointment that you're walking into to learn if Lucas Jr. is a boy or a girl.

"Ah, Ms. Hart! Bright and early, I see. Good morning," the receptionist greets. You give her a tight lipped smile as you explain that you needed to get there an hour early because Maya has a notepad in her purse almost entirely full of possible deformations on your impending child.

"Lucas, literally the penis that our baby has is a defect. All fetuses are female until they start poppin' dicks, Huckleberry."

"You don't know that it's a boy."

"I do know."

"Maya, I swear to-"

"Mother's intuition."

You scoff at her because what a load of shit, right? Sure, you know that moms sort of have a sixth sense thing, but there is no way that Maya has known all along that this baby is a boy. It's ridiculous and you stand by that thought the entire walk to the room before she's lying on the bed with her shirt tugged up to her chest.

You snicker as the doctors pulls out the tool, and you focus in because you can't wait to see her face while he's pressing the little tool into her bump and letting you both know that you are indeed having a boy and Maya's visions that aren't accurate didn't predict shit for the two of you or your son.

Wait.

Holy shit.

You're having a son.

Of course, you wouldn't have loved a little girl any less, and, of course, you expect the loud chorus of 'I told you so's from Maya from the patient seat, and, of course, you're excited to listen to the proper health tips and everything else that the nurse is listing off while Maya gloats- but holy shit, you're having a son.

"Mother's intuition is a myth! What a joke! You're a joke!" The mother of your son, your healthy little son, brags while prodding at your chest. "I told you so, Friar! I fucking told you!"

The doctor claims to leave the both of you to bask in your private moment, but you know that she's stepping out because Maya just announced to anyone within a two mile radius that you can eat her ass because you were wrong.

You don't even care, though, because you are having a son.

You don't care about her bursting about mother's intuition or you always being wrong or teasing you about the tears in your eyes because you are having a little boy with the girl that you've spent practically your entire life loving and you couldn't be any happier.

You do this thing where you tend to get a tad bit overzealous about being correct and you miss the entire point of whatever the actual topic was during your episode because of said behavior.

(Reference the speech given to Lucas after missing the Chinese food in the front of literally everything else in your fridge a few days ago. Like seriously, is he blind? Does he honestly believe that you won't know where the Chinese food is at all times? What the fuck? You need to veer from this, though, because you're honestly getting slightly heated and you really don't feel like getting mad right now.)

Your most recent occurrence happened to be learning the sex of your child.

(Which you were totally right about, but that's besides the point.)

You spent a good twenty minutes laughing at Lucas and his horrible judgment before you packed up and left the office, completely suppressing any emotions about the little boy cookin' up in your oven until right this very second.

"Huckleberry... wake up."

Ah yes, exactly 3:04 am. Your prime.

"Ranger Rick!"

He grumbles a bit, his arm loosening up from his hold on you before he opens his eyes. "What do you need, Maya? Can you not sleep again? Do you need something? Look, you know that I love you, but if you're waking me up just to talk, I don't know if I can do it. I can really try, but I'm just so sleepy." His words get a bit jumbled, blending together in a song of exhaustion.

You think that you might even like him the most when he's like this. Obviously he's cute, but you can't help but feel like your adoration runs deeper than a sleepy grin and scrunchy yawn. It's the commitment that he still has. He's struggling to keep his eyes open, but he's forcing himself awake to check on you. He's holding you, ready to try his best to comfort you until he literally drops. He's just so caring and admirable and just so fucking sweet that you can't help but lean over and press a kiss to his lips.

"What did you do that for?"

You shrug nonchalantly. "Because I love you."

"You are a dork, Maya Papaya," he teases, returning a kiss before he tugs you against him.

"You're the one who calls me Maya Papaya…"

"Potato Johnson? Billy Bob? Huckleberry? Etcetera, etcetera?" he muses to you, an eyebrow quirking up at your comeback.

"... Touché, Hopalong. Touché."

"Hey, Lone Ranger, do you think that Lucas Jr. will like sugar snap peas?" Maya says as she chomps on the vegetable. She's studying for midterms on your bed, the little container of ranch dip resting cutely on her growing stomach as she munches away like a child. "Because I love sugar snap peas! I eat them every day."

You know. You're the one who buys them. Every day.

"But when my mom was pregnant with me, she ate mushrooms every day, and I hate mushrooms- you know that."

She tells you that they taste like a moldy eraser, and you nod in agreement even though you've never really tasted a moldy eraser to make the comparison. Actually, you don't even mind mushrooms all that much, but, then again, that fact is based off of your opinion in the third grade because you couldn't come within ten feet of the ingredient with Maya at your side without her gagging. You just took her word for it and blacklisted consuming all fungi as a pair.

"I don't think I can live my life without snap peas, Bandit King, I just don't!" she cries, her arms flying up anxiously. You watch as the container of dressing slips from her waist to form a pool on the edge of her notebook, a little drizzling onto your sheets in slow motion.

You want to marry her one day.

She's beautiful and charming and hilarious and even sweet, and you're not even dating yet, but you are going to slip a ring onto the fourth finger on her left hand one day and she is going to agree to be your wife.

You imagine her eyes sparkling more brilliantly than her ring will as you press a soothing kiss to her wrinkled forehead, dropping a towel on top of the mess as she notices it's reached her pants.

You imagine her gliding down the aisle, the trance of her dress completely unnoticed. In its place, you see the grin bursting from ear to ear because she's been dreaming of the day as much as you as she waddles towards the bathroom to clean herself up.

You imagine the vows that you'd say to her, sweet nothings to soothe the minds of your mothers and teasing cracks at her height and the crinkle in her nose that she gets when you call her by her full name, as she calls from the bathroom for you to bring her a pair of leggings from the top drawer in your dresser so she can change.

You know that you're young, and you know that you're not going to ask her any time soon, but still. You can't wait until you do.