Title: A Dream Life
Author: Andrea
Rating: R … you better believe it.
Summary: Previously, Abby decided she wanted a baby. So she and Carter set about trying to make one. Then Abby freaked out and decided that maybe it was a bad idea after all. Carter was all bummed out about that, but then one night he came home, and Abby informed him that maybe her change of heart came a little too late. Seems that maybe, just maybe, "PansyAss struck gold on the first try." (Thanks for that, Cath.) And because Abby didn't happen to have any pregnancy tests lying around, they headed out to the all night drugstore. And then, while eating ice cream by the river, Abby had an epiphany. So there you are … now on with the fic.
Author's Note: Where have all the reviews gone? Sniff, sniff. It's all so tragically sad that I have to stoop to being SUCH a feedback whore as to beg … not that it'll make any difference anyway, but whatever.
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A Dream Life
Chapter 8: Three Minutes
As soon as we get home, Abby heads straight for the couch and picks up the remote. To all appearances, she's settling in for some late night TV viewing.
"Uh … Abby?" She turns to look at me as I stand in the middle of the room.
"What?"
"Well, aren't you going to take the test?" She's not really going to keep me waiting is she? I don't think I can stand the suspense much longer.
"I don't have to pee."
"Couldn't you try?" She just looks at me evenly, but with an unmistakable message behind it. Guess she's not gonna try. "You want something to drink then?"
With an eye roll that I couldn't possibly miss, she says, "Okay, fine. I'll drink something." I know she's just humoring me, but I go to the kitchen anyway.
"You want iced tea?"
"Are you sure you want me to have it? There could be caffeine in there." Oh yeah, good point. However something in her voice tells me she's making fun of me again. What's wrong with looking out for the best interests of her and our 'maybe-baby,' as Abby's been calling it? The whole walk home, whenever I'd mention the word "baby," she'd amend it to "maybe-baby." She thinks she's so cute. Lucky for her that she is. I take our drinks out to the couch and sit down next to her, handing her a glass. "Funny looking iced tea," she comments.
"That's probably because it's lemonade."
"Didn't want to take the chance on all that caffeine, huh?"
"You can never be too careful." Especially not when it comes to our maybe-baby.
"It's gonna be a very long nine months." I notice she doesn't qualify it with an "if I'm pregnant" this time. Maybe she's starting to feel the same thing I do. I'm sure she's pregnant. It's almost like I can feel this other presence with us already.
"You know, Carter, there's nothing to see yet. So stop staring at me."
Am I staring? Yeah, I guess I am. But I can't help it. It's all just so incredible. She could be pregnant. My future child could already be on its way. I look at her and expect her to look different. For it to somehow show. And that she looks the same as always but could be harboring such a miracle inside of her, seems too astonishing for me to really grasp. I know I must be sitting here grinning like an idiot. But I can't help it. The thought of a baby, our baby, is so unbelievable. I'm so excited, I can hardly stand to sit still. I feel like I should be dancing, or shouting out this great news from the rooftop. Assuming that she really is pregnant. She is, she is. I'm sure of it. Only what if I'm wrong? I just wish she would take the test so I can hold the proof in my hand, and know for sure, without a doubt.
"Abby?" She tears herself away from the TV and looks over at me.
"What?" She asks me without a hint of the nervousness that I feel. Funny, I would have thought she would be the one who would be a bundle of nerves.
"How can you be so calm? Isn't the suspense killing you?"
She shrugs. "Why are you so anxious? I thought you were so confident."
"I am, but still. Until I see that positive test, there's a chance I could be wrong. I want to eliminate any little bit of uncertainty and know for sure."
"Okay, let's find out for sure."
"I thought you said you didn't have to pee."
"Well, I have to now."
"You sure you weren't just …" I hesitate, not wanting to piss her off.
"What?"
"Stalling?"
She gives me a look … but then she laughs a little. "Well, maybe just a little."
"But I thought you said you wanted it to be positive." So why was she was desperately clinging to these few last minutes when she could pretend it wasn't happening?
"I do. But …" Uh-oh … "but" what? I hope she's not gonna freak out on me again. She seemed pretty sure when we were talking by the river, but with Abby, you never know. "I'm just not as sure about as you are." Here we go again. I must give her a look because, she explains further. "You know, about the test being positive. What if it's negative? I guess I just wanted a little more time to get lost in the fantasy. Believe it's all gonna turn out the way we want it to and that we won't have to face the disappointment." So she does still want it. Now that I'm reassured about my biggest worry, I want to reassure her
"We're not gonna be disappointed." I tell her as I reach out to push a stray strand of hair off her face.
"I hope not."
"But … if the test doesn't come out the way we are hoping, you know we can always try again … if you want." I suggest it tentatively, not sure exactly how she feels about it. Like she said, it's one thing if she's pregnant already … but what about if she's not? What then?
She nods, almost imperceptibly. "You know, just an hour ago I was asking myself if that's what I would want. You know, if the test is negative. And I wasn't sure how I would feel. If I would be disappointed and want to start trying again right away, or if I would feel like I'd gotten a reprieve." I nod to show that I'm listening, and that I understand. Because I do. Abby picks at some non-existent lint on her jeans before starting to speak again. "But then, I don't know, seeing how excited you were, realizing how much I really do want this test to be positive made me remember all the reasons I wanted to do this in the first place. So even if I'm not pregnant now, I guess something good will have come of all this. It's made me realize, all over again, just how much I want us to have a baby."
"So … if we're not already pregnant, you want to start trying again?"
She nods in affirmation. "Yeah, I think so." I take her hand and squeeze it, giving her a big smile.
This is a big relief. Now I feel like there's not quite so much riding on this test. For awhile there, I was thinking that this might be my only shot at fatherhood. But now that I know that even if she's not pregnant now, there's still hope, I feel much more relaxed. Of course, I still think she's already pregnant. And that's my first preference. If this is what we both want, what good would come out of having to wait? If she's pregnant now ... Well, we don't have to wait on pins and needles each month, hoping that it worked. We won't have to worry about what happens if we can't get pregnant. And we'll be a family that much sooner. But if it hasn't happened yet, we can just keep trying, now that Abby seems to have conquered her fears.
"You're not scared anymore?" I ask her following my own thoughts.
She looks down at our hands, turns mine over in her own, lightly traces one of the visible veins before answering. "I'm terrified." I give her a questioning look because I don't understand, I thought it was her fear that was holding her back before. If she's still scared now, what's changed her mind about all this?
She shrugs and then tries to explain. "I guess I finally just realized that fear is always going to be a part of the equation for me. I wish I felt more confident about everything working out just fine, but I don't. Too many things -- most things, in fact -- in my life have gone wrong eventually. Why should this be an exception? And the thought of somehow messing this up terrifies me. This is the one thing I can't get wrong. The one thing I can't stand the thought of having, but then losing. But I don't want to miss out on it either. My mother once told me that if I don't take any risks in life, I'd miss out on the good stuff. And I think she was right." She stops for a moment. Stares off into space. When she speaks again, it's almost like she's talking to herself rather than me. "Everything worth doing is full of risk, and any time you take a chance, there's going to be fear. But I think, when it comes to having our baby, the fear is worth it." She turns her head to look at me. "I took a chance on falling in love with you, and look how well that worked out."
I laugh a little at that and then pull her to me and kiss the top of her head as she settles against me. "So what scares you the most?" I can't help but think the more we talk about it, the more likely she is to get past these nagging doubts.
She answers without hesitating, "Being a bad mother." She said the same thing a few weeks ago. But I'm still a little surprised because I always thought that it was the threat of passing on her mother's disease that loomed largest in her mind.
"Abby, you're not gonna be bad mother. That's just not possible. You're great with kids. You're a natural. And maybe more importantly, you can do anything that you put your mind to, Abby. And you've obviously already spent a lot of time thinking about this. I know you'll be a devoted, conscientious mother, if that's what you want. And it obviously is what you want. All it's gonna take is a little hard work, but I know you're up to the challenge. You'll see, you'll be great."
She lifts her head up to mine and kisses my cheek. "Thanks for saying that. I know you pretty much had to, but it was nice to hear anyway."
"It's true. I have no doubts about you being a good -- no, a great -- mother." She doesn't say anything, but I swear I can feel the smile on her face as she cuddles up closer to me. "And listen, I know you worry about passing on your mother's disease. And even though that is something to be concerned about, I don't think we have too much to worry about. You're not bipolar, there's no history in my family, so that means the chances of our child having the disease are only about three to seven percent. And there's a one to two percent chance in the general population, so the odds aren't increased all that much. And if you think about it, a seven percent chance, at the most, that still means a ninety-three percent chance of having a perfectly healthy child. And ninety-three percent, those are pretty good odds … I mean, a ninety-three percent on a test or a ninety-three percent chance of winning the lottery or --"
"Wait," she interrupts me. "How did you know that? The exact percentages, I mean."
"I looked it up once."
"When? When we started trying?"
"No. A long time ago." In response to the look she gives me, I go on. "I wanted to know exactly what the chances were. I figured it might come up someday, and I wanted to be able to reassure you. And I wanted to know just how likely it was that our kids would become sick."
"A long time ago? And you were already thinking about the kids we might have?"
I nod, a little sheepishly. For some reason, I'm embarrassed by this discovery, but I guess I owe her an explanation. "I've known for a long time that you were the one, Abby. The one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. And you're the only one that I would ever want to be the mother of my children, so …" I trail off, shrugging, still a bit self-conscious about this revelation.
Abby sits up and looks at me, somewhat amused. "You are really on a roll tonight, you know that? You know, saying all the right things," she explains in response to the look on my face. Then her eyes get soft, her face takes on a serious look, and I know she's got something meaningful to reveal to me. Her voice is soft and tender when she speaks, "And you're the only man who could ever be my children's father. Because I don't think I'd ever have the courage to do this with someone else." I know sharing these kind of emotional revelations doesn't come easily to Abby, and seeing the tears gathered in her eyes when she says it, makes my heart melt. I lean forward and kiss her. Lightly, but with all the love that I feel for her at this moment.
Before long she pulls away, and pats my knee. Then in her regular voice, all business now, she says, "Okay, I guess it's time to know for sure, don't you think?" She pulls the pregnancy test out of the bag and flips it over, glancing at the instructions. Oh yeah, that's right. She has to take a test. To find out if she's pregnant. The thought fills me with excitement all over again. She could already be carrying my child. I can't wait to find out for sure. Oh, I hope it's positive. I study her, hoping for something that will give me a sign that my dreams are about to come true. All it garners me is Abby saying, with mock annoyance, "You're staring again. Cut it out."
Then she stands up and heads to the bathroom. Naturally, I get up and follow her. Once in the bathroom she turns to look at me.
"What are you doing?"
"I thought maybe you'd need some help."
"Oh. Well, who do you think should pee on the stick? You or me?"
"I guess you should probably do it."
"Well, you know, I'm pretty good at peeing on my own, so why don't you go wait in the bedroom?" She puts her hands on my back and gives me a firm push out the door, so I guess it's not really a suggestion.
So I stay in the bedroom, waiting impatiently for Abby's appearance. I slip out of my shoes and jeans and sit down on the edge of the bed. And then I wait. And wait. And wait. What's going on? Did she fall in? How hard is it to pee on a stick? I'm just about to get up and go make sure she hasn't passed out from shock, when the door finally opens. Abby comes padding into the bedroom in just her tank top and panties, drops her cloths on the chair and perches next to me on the side of the bed.
"So?" I ask her anxiously.
"'So' what?" She can't be serious.
"Well? Are you or aren't you?"
"Oh! I don't know. We have to wait three minutes." She nods toward her hand, and sure enough, she's holding the test.
"I thought that's what took you so long … that you were waiting for the results."
"Of course not. I want to wait with you." She slips her empty hand in mine. "I was just brushing my teeth, getting ready for bed. Then I took the test. Now we wait."
"Three minutes?" She nods. "You're killing me here, you know that, Ab?"
"Well, you'll know soon enough." There's a little note of apprehension in her voice again. I give her hand a squeeze.
"Nervous?"
"Uh-huh. But it's just normal jitters, I think. You know, even though it's what we want, it's still kinda scary. Because it's gonna change everything, you know? Just like those hokey Johnson & Johnson commercials, 'having a baby changes everything.' That's a little overwhelming."
"I know. Change is always overwhelming. But it's gonna be change for the better." She nods in agreement, although I can see she's still a little concerned. "I'm sure there will come a day when we'll look back to these days when it was just the two of us and think how boring and meaningless our lives were."
"You mean 'quiet and peaceful?'"
"That too. But it's gonna be great. Probably not quiet or peaceful, but … lots of joyful noise."
"Joyful noise, huh? We'll see how joyful you think it is when a screaming baby wakes us up at 2 a.m. And 3 a.m. And 4 a.m."
"I can't wait." She looks at me like maybe I'm losing my mind just a tiny little bit. "Really. It'll be hard, but rewarding. And I know that it's scary, but just remember that things aren't going to change all at once. We'll have time to ease into it." I pull her into a hug, let her rest her cheek against my chest.
"I know. It's just … there's no going back. We'll be somebody's parents. And that's forever."
"Yeah, but I think we're ready. Don't you?"
"We'd better be."
I chuckle a little at that. "Yeah, I guess so, if we want to have a baby."
"We already have one." Her voice is so soft and quiet that at first I think I imagined it.
"What?" I seem to be talking in a hushed tone myself. Trying not to break the spell we must be under.
"Look." She pulls away and offers up the test stick for my inspection. "It's positive."
Her voice is breathless with nervous excitement. "I'm pregnant."
Tears in her voice. Tears in her eyes. Tears rolling down her cheeks. She looks at me expectantly. And there's only one coherent thought in my head.
"But … but … it hasn't been three minutes!" She immediately starts laughing through her tears.
"Well, I can't help that. But three minutes or not, it's definitely positive."
"Let me see." She offers me the test stick, and I take it in my hand to inspect it. Sure enough, there's a plus sign in the little window. No doubt about it. The vertical line that turns the minus sign into a plus and indicates a positive test is a bold, strong pink. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. She's definitely pregnant. These tests work the same way as the ones we use at the hospital, so I know they're reliable. And while it is possible to get a false negative on a home test, you don't get a false positive. It's real. It's really real. We're pregnant. We're gonna have a baby.
"Say something." She sniffs, still teary-eyed and anxiously awaiting my reaction.
Say something? How can I say something when I'm speechless? Even though I knew this was very good possibility, even though I really thought she was pregnant all along, somehow, knowing for sure has taken my breath away. Now I really have something that I want to shout out from the rooftops, yet I still can't find any words. Well maybe there are three little words that come to mind.
"I love you." I pull her to me, and she wraps her arms around my neck. When I kiss her, it's full of all of the emotions that are bubbling over inside of me -- love, pride, joy. "I love you so much." My voice breaks and the tears spill down my cheeks too. It just makes her cry more. Abby, who so rarely cries, seems to be on the verge of tears all the time anymore. But these are happy tears. We're laughing as we cry. The tears dry up after a few minutes. And then Abby yawns the biggest yawn I've ever seen.
"Maybe you should lie down," I suggest. Not surprisingly, she rolls her eyes at me with a little shake of her head, but she does lie down. I carefully lay the talisman of this next era in our lives, the test stick with its happy little plus sign, on the bedside table before I lie next to her so that we are face to face. Our eyes seemed locked together, tethered to one another by some invisible force. I can't seem to take my eyes from hers. We just lie in the soft light of the bedside lamp, smiling happy, but somewhat shell-shocked, smiles at each other.
"Well …" It's Abby that finally breaks the silence. "Pretty wild, huh?"
"Yeah." I look at her face and figure I already have an answer to my next question, but I ask her anyway. "Are you happy?"
"Absolutely."
"Me too." She laughs at this.
"Yeah, I know. You're glowing."
"I thought it was expectant mothers who are supposed to glow."
"I guess it works for expectant fathers too. At least in your case."
Expectant fathers … I guess that's me now. "I'm gonna be a daddy."
"Yeah."
"You're gonna be a mommy."
"Yeah." She still sounds kinda awed by the fact. She rolls over onto her back and contemplates the ceiling of the bedroom. And, I suppose, the major changes that are about to take place in our lives. As she puts one arm up to push her hair back, her tank top rides up a bit, exposing a mere inch of bare skin. But it's enough of an invitation to me. I slip my hand on to that bare skin, pushing the material further out of the way, allowing me to softly caress her belly. It's still as flat as ever, but I know that won't last long. I'm still amazed at the thought of all the miraculous changes that are happening just beneath where my hand rests.
"We did it." I say, awed at the concept that together we created a new life. We made love and made a baby. So simple. So incredible.
"Uh-huh."
"We really did it."
"You did it. You knocked me up." She's teasing me in a mock accusatory tone. "Good job." She's serious about that one.
"Thanks." I feel a sudden surge of pride at this accomplishment. Some primal male instinct tells us to spread our seed and impregnate our female. And there's a certain satisfaction in knowing that I was able to get the job done. "I'm just glad everything works."
"You mean you're just glad that your little guys can swim." Well, having prolific sperm is considered a sign of manliness, is it not? And to nail it on the first try … isn't that something to be at least a little bit proud of?
"Well, yeah. But mostly I'm just relieved that we were lucky enough to get it right immediately."
"Yeah. We did get lucky, didn't we? Several times in fact, if I recall. But then we really lucked out getting pregnant besides."
"All thanks to my incredible virility."
"Yeah, I didn't have anything to do with it. Why is it that men are always so proud of their sperm? You don't hear women bragging about their eggs."
"Well that's probably because it's our one claim to fame in this whole thing. Your egg just floats along waiting for my sperm … which has to do all the work, swimming to that egg. So the sperm has the active role."
"Yeah, the first and last time the male part of the equation has to do all, or even any, of the work. And you get to have fun doing it. Doesn't seem quite fair."
"I'm sorry. I guess I should say 'thanks,' huh?"
"Why, just because I'm growing you a baby?"
"But I'm the one who gave you that baby."
"Yes, but as we just established, I'm the one who has to do all the work."
"Well, I'll try to make it up to you." I offer. I'm not quite sure how I ever can, but I'll do my best. Still, what can I ever possibly give her that would even come close?
"It's not necessary. I mean, sure I have to deal with the hardships of pregnancy, but … I'm the one who gets to enjoy it too. And I'll bet it'll all be worth it, the first time I feel the baby kick." She sounds wistful, talking about that day in the not-too-distant future when the baby starts to kick.
The baby. Not a maybe-baby anymore. A soon-to-be baby. I shift positions and lay my head down on Abby's abdomen, my hand still lightly resting low on her belly. "There's a baby in there." I feel her hand on the back of my head, her fingers running lightly through my hair.
"I love you," she says in her softest, most tender voice.
I turn my head to look at her. "I love you, too." And then I turn back to her belly, light planting kisses below her belly button. "And I love you, too, Baby. Yes, your daddy loves you."
"John," the laughter is practically spilling over from her, "what are you doing?"
"Talking to my baby." I try my best to sound indignant. But I think I'm just too damn happy to pull it off.
"The baby can't hear you, you know. The baby doesn't have any ears."
"So what? It's the thought that counts. Besides, I might as well get in the habit now. That way, as soon as the baby can hear, it'll be hearing my voice. Isn't that right, Baby? Your mommy thinks I'm crazy, doesn't she? " She sighs, giving in to my eccentricity, and I return to kissing the baby. Well, sending kisses to the baby via its mother's belly. Its mother. Abby. Abby's my baby's mother now.
I wouldn't have suspected that thinking of her in those terms would be the least bit erotic. But somehow, there's something about knowing that our lovemaking was so fruitful that makes me want to plow that fertile land once again. Or maybe it's just the most natural expression of these feelings that are running through me. All the love I have for her. How proud I am of her. How happy I am for us. Maybe it's just the perfect way to celebrate our wonderful creation. Maybe it's just been a while. Apparently Abby must be feeling the same way, because as I continue what has started out as the most innocent of kisses against her belly, I feel her fingers gripping my hair a little more tightly, massaging my scalp rhythmically. I continue to move my lips lightly over her bare skin, but now with a slightly more sensuous quality.
When she speaks, her voice is low and husky. "A little lower, Tiger." Tiger … uh-oh, I'm in trouble now.
"Well, if it's what you really want …"
"Mmm," is the only response I get. I grin, hearing her moan.
I find the bottom of her tank top, and she sits up enough to allow me to lift it off her as she reaches down and slips her panties over her hips. I pull off my own t-shirt as I feel her small fingers slip under the waistband of my boxers and then quickly pull them down.
For a long moment, I lie next to her, just studying her now naked body. And already I notice changes in her. Maybe I wouldn't have if I hadn't known what to look for. When I told her earlier that her breasts looked swollen, I was been kidding around with her. I hadn't really gotten enough of look to know for sure. But now, studying them more carefully, they do look somewhat rounder and fuller to me. Of course it could all be my imagination. But I don't think so. I reach my hand out, thinking maybe a little touchy-feely can help me decide. But then I remember that she did say they were tender. I make a note, wanting to be sure not to cause her any discomfort.
She notices that my hand changes direction mid-air, ending up back on her stomach instead of at it's intended destination. She laughs a little as she reaches out to take hold of my wrist, attempting to guide my hand to where she wants it. Namely on her boobs, apparently. "It's okay. You can touch them. They're not going to explode."
"Well, you said they were sore."
"They are. But not that sore."
"Oh, okay. Well, I'll be gentle."
"You always are." Her voice is airy and breathless as her eyes close in anticipation of my touch. I let my fingertips touch the round swell of her flesh very lightly. Slowly I explore her tender breasts, moving constantly closer to the already hard nipples. She arches her back and small sighs escape her lips as my hands roam slowly over her body. My mouth drops down to her warm and tender flesh, my tongue following the same path my fingers just blazed. When I finally take one of her hard little nipples into my mouth, I hear her gasp. I freeze, worrying that I've hurt her. But then I feel her arms wrapped around my head, pulling me closer to her, holding me tight. I lick and suck and nuzzle lightly, first at one breast and then the other.
And then I start trailing kisses down her body. First in the furrow between her cleavage and then down to her belly button. As I kiss the bare flesh beneath her navel, I'm reminded of the baby whose creation, just a few short weeks ago, started out much like this. Of course, the weeks don't seem to short when this is missing. As if reading my mind, Abby says, or rather moans, "It's been a long time."
"Mmm, too long." I reply as I take my place exactly where she wanted me just a little while ago. I run my hands lightly up and down her thighs, feeling her heat, seeing just how ready she is for me. Softly I reach out to touch her pink folds, and she opens up to me like a blossoming flower. And I drink in her sweet nectar, reveling in the softness of her skin and the pleasure in her moans until her body trembles violently beneath me as she calls out my name.
I slide up to meet her face to face, our lips coming together in a long, slow kiss. It really has been way too long. I'm so glad to have this closeness again. Apparently, so is Abby. She kissing me all over my face, down my neck, on my shoulders. But when I feel her hand sliding farther and farther down my chest and the over my belly, I reach out and capture her hand before it can go any lower. I know what she has in mind, but it's not what I want tonight.
"Abby, I don't think I could take it … I'd never last."
"So what? You can just save up your energy for the next round." Unlike that night I came home, that night our child was conceived, I guess she's not too concerned about making sure that the first shot of 'sperm-loaded baby juice' gets delivered to the appropriate destination. She doesn't need to worry about that anymore. But still, it's been so long, I don't want to wait any longer to be inside of her, to join together with her as one entity. When I shake my head, indicating that I don't want to wait for the next round, she seems to understand. "Okay, whatever you want," she agrees as she lays back on the pillow, her hair spilling all around her. Her hands come to rest on my shoulders, and I feel her legs wrap around my own.
I slip inside her slowly and gently, watching as her eyes close in satisfaction. "My sentiments exactly," I think as I begin slow, languid strokes. I feel like I'm rediscovering her all over again. And because this is such a moment of reconnecting with each other, I expect this slow, sweet, gentle rhythm that we've set to continue. But then, after a few moments, without either of us saying a word, but somehow by mutual consent, the tenor of the act changes. Suddenly she's growling in my ear and whispering dirty little nothings. I become her tiger, and there's a wild animal quality to the way we are throwing ourselves at each other. She wraps her arms tightly around my neck, pulling me down to kiss her sweet lips. Our tongues soon begin to mimic the rhythm our bodies have set. Until that rhythm increases as we both get closer and closer to the goal. She pulls her lips away from mine, letting her head fall back on the pillow where she tosses it from side to side. I move even faster, wanting desperately to explode inside of her, but using all my willpower to hold back knowing that she's very close.
Just when I think I can't possibly hold on long enough, her steady chants of "yes … oh … yes … John" take on more urgency. Her hips lift off the bed, and I plunge deeper into her, causing her to scream my name as her whole body goes rigid. The feel of her tightly encasing me and the rhythmic spasms of her muscles combine to push me over the edge, and I scream out her name in sheer ecstasy before collapsing on top of her.
We roll onto our sides, arms and legs entwined, and lie quietly just trying to catch our breath. "Hmm, that was amazing," Abby informs me, finally breaking the silence. Well yeah, I kinda thought so.
My hand slips from her side to her belly, its new favorite resting place. "You're amazing … Mommy," I tell her, as I trace little circles on her lower abdomen.
"Nuh-uh. Don't call me 'Mommy.' Especially not after you've just got done thoroughly and completely fucking my brains out. It's creepy."
I laugh at that, but then admonish her, "Abby! You're gonna have to learn to watch your language."
"We've already been over this … the baby can't hear yet."
"I know, but it never hurts to get in the habit. I mean, you never know when little ears might be in the room."
"Well, I certainly hope they won't be in the room when you're busy thoroughly and completely fucking my brains out. That could seriously mess up a kid." She laughs, refusing to take the conversation seriously. Then she rolls over on to her back, and I prop myself up on my elbow, giving me a chance to study her once again. "John, you're staring again."
"Sorry," I say as I reach out and begin lightly tracing my fingertips around her breasts again. "I was just thinking."
"That's always dangerous."
"I was just thinking how truly remarkable your body is, you know? I mean, it has all these dual functions all of a sudden. I mean, now it has to nourish and protect this new life. There's a practical reason for all these parts that were always just … fun. It's kinda weird."
"Oh, you're not going to go all weird on me are you? Get that whole, what's it called? Madonna complex? Where you feel like you can't even touch me, never mind the whole fucking my brains out thing, just because now I'm the mother of your child, are you?"
"No, Abby. I think we just proved that's not going to be a problem. I just think it's interesting, I never really thought about it before. You know, how such polar opposites are all tied up together."
She shakes her head a little bit. "What do you mean?"
"Well … take your breasts, for example." It's a good one, since I'm still very much enjoying caressing them lightly in all their naked splendor.
"What about my boobs?"
"Well, you know, normally they have this sexual function. They're there for our pleasure. And as a nice adornment, of course. But once the baby comes, they'll have a whole other purpose. To give nourishment to our child."
"Well, that is what they are for, you know … You're not gonna freak out about the breastfeeding thing, are you?"
"No, of course not. I just think it's fascinating that something that plays such an integral part in the act that makes the baby, has such a practical, natural, innocent role once the baby gets here. I mean, a newborn baby nursing at its mothers breast is about as pure and innocent an image as you could ever ask for. But under any other circumstances, that's not normally how we think of naked breasts -- as something pure. But now they're both … they're sexy and wholesome."
"Yes, I can use them for good or evil now."
"I just think it's really pretty cool, when you think about it, how well equipped our bodies, especially women's bodies, are for procreation."
"So you mean, we have the boobs to lure men in so they'll give up the baby juice? And then once we have the baby that nature made sure we want, we have the means to sustain it?"
"Yeah, something like that."
"You know what?"
"What?"
"I think … you think too much." But she's smiling at me, so I know she doesn't really mind my musings, however strange they may be. She understands me, and I'm so glad we're talking, among other things, again. Even if the talking is about the weird ramblings in my mind. I'm lucky to have someone who will listen to them and not make fun of me for them … too much. I'm lucky to have her. Incredibly lucky. The luckiest man in the world.
"I love you," I tell her. "You have no idea how happy you've made me."
"Yes, I do. You've made me just as happy." We exchange what's become our typical expression in these past couple of hours -- the goofy grin. "There's just one thing that could make me even happier right now."
"Oh yeah? What's that?"
"A grilled cheese sandwich." Is she serious?
"What?"
She shrugs. "I'm hungry. Starving actually. We never had dinner, remember?" Oh yeah, that's right. Just the ice cream … of which I didn't get much. I'm kinda hungry too.
"So you want a grilled cheese sandwich for dinner in the middle of the night?"
"Would you mind?" She gives me a beguiling smile and bats her eyelashes at me. "Tiger?" Oh, she has me now. And she knows it.
"You want me to get up out of our nice, cozy bed and go into the cold kitchen and make you a sandwich?" I can't resist the urge to tease her, at least a little bit.
"Uh-huh. Pretty much."
"And why should I do that?"
"Because you love me?" I just look at her. "Because you promised in our wedding vows to 'love, honor, cherish, and make fried sandwiches in the dead of night?'" I don't say a word. "Because I'm making you a baby?"
"Well, if you put it that way … okay." So I get up and head out to the kitchen. Where, at one o'clock in the morning, I proceed to make my pregnant wife grilled cheese sandwiches. While totally naked. Probably not the best idea. Oh well, I suppose this is going to be a regular occurrence. The middle of the night food runs … if not the nudity. I just hope that Abby hasn't fallen asleep when I return with a platter piled high with grilled cheese sandwiches and diced fruit.
But I find her wide-awake in the bedroom. Apparently having fallen prey to the same trance that I've been in all night. She's sitting with her back against the pillows, hands on her belly, one of them lightly, reverently rubbing small circles. She's looking down at her hands with this look of quiet amazement on her face. And if I'm not mistaken, she was whispering something as I came in the room. And she pretended to think I was crazy for 'talking' to the baby. Oh well, I'll let her have her secret.
She looks up at me with a smile. Whether it's for me or the food, I'll never know. But either way, we enjoy our gluttonous picnic of crisp bread and gooey cheese in bed. Abby looks positively ecstatic. Whether it's because of the baby or the food, again, I don't know. But I choose to believe that it's the former. Although a good grilled cheese sandwich can make most people pretty happy. But even when the food is gone and the empty plate put away, she still has a happy little smile plastered across her face, so maybe I know what's making her so happy after all.
We slip under the covers and snuggle up together. I hold her tight and kiss the top of her head. She looks up at me with sleepy eyes. I can't help it, I look down at her and say, "Good night, Mommy."
She giggles, yawns, buries her face in my chest, but still, I hear her whisper, "Good night, Daddy."
And those words are music to my ears.