Title: This Thing About Birthdays

Author's Note: This chapter is going out to Catherine. For so many reasons. But maybe mostly for saying that this is one of her favorite fics ever, "It's so funny and fuzzy and filled with a little fucker...what's not to love?" and that it is "well worth posting" … ah, she's such a good liar. Thanks for that McLies-A-Lot.

Disclaimer: You can't PROVE they're not mine.

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This Thing About Birthdays

Part I

Chapter 3: Record Mood Swings and a Big Brown Bag

"Okay, Abby, where to first?" Susan asks me.

"Uh … I dunno." It's only now that it occurs to me that I've invited Susan to come shopping with me. For maternity clothes. Okay, this is going to necessitate telling her I'm pregnant. Or letting her figure it out.

"Well, what are we here for?"

I shrug. "New clothes, I guess."

Susan looks me up and down, taking in the day's ensemble. "That's a very good idea. What the hell are you wearing anyway?"

"Carter's clothes."

"Why?"

I take a deep breath. "Mine don't seem to fit very well these days." I busy myself reading the store directory and then step into the elevator.

Susan follows behind. "Oh, I get it. Yeah, I know how you feel. The same thing happened to me."

"Oh, really?" If the same thing happened to Susan that happened to me, she really has been holding out on me.

"Sure. I gained a few pounds over the holidays, too. Although, I still fit into my clothes. That must have been some pie they had at the Carter family Christmas dinner. It's always the dessert that does it, isn't it?"

"Yeah, something like that." The elevator door opens, revealing our destination. After we step off the elevator, Susan looks around.

"Hey Ab, I think this is the wrong floor. You said you wanted new clothes. I don't see the ladies' clothes here. I see baby clothes and I see maternity clothes, but I don't see any clothes for you."

I just stand there and look at her, wondering if it's gonna sink in. She just looks confused. Okay, a little help. "This is the right floor." I take her arm and start dragging her toward the maternity section.

"But Abby … this is the maternity clothes." Oh God, and she's a doctor. Am I going to have to draw her a picture?

"Yeah, Susan. I know that. I'm here to buy maternity clothes." I think the light is starting to dawn because she suddenly looks startled. Better put her out of her misery. "Because I'm pregnant."

"AAAAHHHHHHH!!" She screams loud enough for the entire floor of Bloomingdales to hear her. "Oh my God, you're pregnant!?!" A little louder Susan, I don't think they quite heard you back at County, why don't you try again? She grabs me into a big hug and rocks me back and forth. "Oh, congratulations! Abby! Why didn't you tell me? Oh, this is so exciting."

"Thanks." She drops her arms and looks at me with a big grin.

"I can't believe you're gonna have a baby. God, I can't believe little Carter is going to be a father."

I give her a funny look … I think at the use of the word 'little'. I forget sometimes that she knew him back when he was a wet-behind-the-ears med student. But it seems that she interprets my look in a different way.

"Oh God. I mean, Carter is going to be a father, right?"

I can't help but laugh. "Well, you know, it's between him and Frank. So I'm keeping my fingers crossed." She's just looking at me with a shocked expression on her face. "God, Susan. Of course, Carter is going to be a father. Geez, you think highly of me, huh?"

"Gotcha." She grins. Oh, okay. She was just kidding. I hope she was just kidding. "So why didn't you tell me?"

I shrug. "We didn't tell anybody yet. Well, actually, we finally told his family. At Christmas."

"That must have been some fun."

"Oh yeah, you bet. They looked at me like I was something they might scrape off the bottom of their shoes. And then they realized I'm incubating the Carter family heir. It's like they want to hate me, but now they can't. It's a mess. But John's been great. He says they'll come around. And if they don't, it's their loss."

"Sounds like a good philosophy. After all, what can you do?"

"Spend as much of the family trust fund as possible on ugly maternity clothes?" I ask, showing off that gold card Carter insisted on taking out for me.

"Yeah, that'll show them. Let's go."

We start wandering through the maternity section , where I find that not everything is totally hideous. Not exactly the cutest fashions ever, but I think I can probably find something. But absolutely no jeans with that big elastic panel in the front. I'd rather wear Carter's sweatpants until I give birth. It doesn't take long for me to have an armload of clothes to try on, and Susan seems to keep digging up stuff with potential too. Between the two of us, we look like we are trying to dress an army. An army of pregnant women, apparently. Oh well, John did say to break the bank.

"So when's the big day?" Susan asks. She's holding up an eggplant colored sweater. It's pretty. No bows, no lace. I nod as I answer.

"Oh well, you know how it is. They always give you a date, but it's just a guess, you know how hard it can be to pin these things down, but ..." I start.

"It's hard to pin down your wedding day?"

I practically choke on my gum. "My what?"

"Weeeedddding day." She repeats it like maybe diminished mental capacity is a side effect of pregnancy. "So come on … when's it gonna be? When are you getting married?"

"We're not."

"You're not getting married?"

"No. I mean … no. We … well. Um, he … hasn't asked." I kinda shrug and give her my best 'oh well' look while I inspect a pair of gray wool pants. No elastic panels, that's a good sign.

"Wait a minute. Are you telling me that you are carrying his child, but John Carter hasn't offered to make an honest woman out of you yet?"

"It hasn't come up."

"Yet. But don't you think it's sort of one of those things that would be better taken care of sooner, rather than later? I mean, you know … " She looks pointedly at my belly.

I smooth the sweater down over my bump and understand what she means. Seems this baby is intent on making it's presence known to the whole world. And why shouldn't it? After all, it's scheduled to put in an appearance in a little over four months. And now that I can't even squeeze into my clothes anymore … well, it's just a matter of time before the whole world knows. And then the whole world will know that Abby screwed up again.

No, that's not right. This baby is not a mistake. A surprise, sure. But not an accident. And accident, a mistake … those are things you would take back if you could. I wouldn't ever take this happy little surprise back. And I'm proud to be carrying this baby. Our baby. John's and mine. Our little love child. And it's a good thing. Okay, the timing wasn't the best, but there's nothing I can do about that. It's happening now, and I am bound and determined to do this right. And I've been doing everything right so far. No alcohol, obviously. No smoking. No caffeine. Well, okay, not much caffeine. Plenty of rest, vitamins, healthy food, exercise … everything the pregnancy books say to do. But if I'm not married to my baby's father, does that automatically make me a bad mother? Am I screwing up my kid before it even comes into the world? I feel the tears brimming, and I try to will them to stop. Before this pregnancy, I could count on one hand the number of times that I'd cried in past five years. But now it seems like I would need both hands to count the number of times I cry in day. Damn stupid hormones.

"Abby?" I try to brush away the tears with the back of my hand. My voice, when it comes out, is quiet and broken, in spite of how hard I try to sound sure in my convictions.

"We don't need to be married to have a baby together." I'm practically whispering now. "I love him. He loves me. We love this baby. What else matters?"

"Nothing. You're right, that's what matters." She comes over and puts her arm around my shoulders. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry."

"It's okay. You didn't. I mean, everything makes me cry these days. For Pete's sake, commercials make me cry. Just this morning, I was bawling at a stupid TV commercial."

"Lots of pregnant women cry at diaper commercials or any of those sentimental ones, especially if there are babies in them. Was it that one for that new 4-D ultrasound, with that song, you know 'the first time, ever I saw your face' ? Because that one makes me tear up sometimes."

"It was for blueberry muffin mix. And there weren't even any kids in it. Just the Pillsbury Dough Boy. But he's so cute, and when he giggled, I burst into tears."

"Okay, that is pretty serious. Better steer clear of pastry commercials. Or all baked goods, if fact. And it's probably not a good idea to watch A Wedding Story either."

I laugh. I can't help it. "I was married before, you know. It's not all that it's cracked up to be. It's a piece of paper, you know? It can't fix everything. It can't really change anything. Not the bad stuff anyway. And, besides, I happen to think that it's more important for a child to be born into a loving relationship than to be born into a marriage. Just because your parents are married is no guarantee."

"You're not kidding. If you want proof, just drop by Cookie and Henry's sometime. They're married. I usually wish they weren't. But you and Carter … that's a whole other story, Abby. You two could make it. You'd be great."

"I don't even know if I want to get married again. I think I learned that lesson the hard way."

Yeah, tough words, Abby. But if that's so true, how come I can't say the word 'married' without my voice breaking? The truth is, I'm not sure how I feel about marriage anymore. The last one was a disaster. But that doesn't mean that all marriages are bad. Maybe it would be kind of nice to be married again. And if there is anyone in this world that I would be willing to go down that road with, it's Carter. He seems to have that effect on me. There was a time when I couldn't have imagined having the strength or the guts to take a risk on motherhood, no matter how much I may have wanted it. And look at me now, thanks to him. In more ways than one. I mean, I never could have done this without him. But I never could have done it without him. That is, I don't think I ever could have gone through with it with someone else. Last time, I couldn't even go through with it with my husband.

So marriage certainly isn't the most important thing. The most important thing is being in love with a wonderful man who loves you and who will be a fantastic father. And who also happens to be the only man who you would ever want to be the father of your children. The only man who could ever be their father. I know it's true. It is. But still, I realize that this baby will be a Carter too. And so will any others. Will I be the only one in my house who isn't a Carter? And to make matters worse, I still have my ex-husband's last name. Oh God, Carter and I have to get married … just so I can have his name. But of course, he hasn't asked. So maybe it's not what he wants. Maybe I'm not good enough for him. Or his family. But he's so excited about the baby. Really happy. So what does that mean? Am I good enough or not? Good enough to bear his child, but not good enough to marry and share the honorable Carter name? What am I, his breeding machine?

"Jackass! Stupid goddamn asshole! " Susan looks startled at this sudden outburst. And rightfully so, since, after all, she wasn't inside my head to partake of the insane ramblings.

"Well, excuse me! I said I was sorry." She sticks her tongue out at me and now I'm laughing. From crying to laughing to raging to laughing in like three minutes. I think that's a new mood swing record. Maybe I should write it down. Oh, I can't wait to tell John, he'll be so glad he missed it. I mean, the jackass … I can't wait to tell the jackass. No, that's not fair. It's not like he refused to marry me, he just didn't ask. Okay, maybe he thinks I don't want to get married. Maybe I should throw out some hints. Maybe I should ask him. Maybe …

"Abby? I know you are having a great time crying and swearing and laughing here in the middle of Bloomies, but this armload of clothes is getting ridiculously heavy so what do you say we take this party to the dressing room? You are definitely going to need a Big Brown Bag for all of this stuff."

"Okay, let's go … But Susan? If this is your idea of a party, you REALLY need to get out more. And isn't it Large Brown Bag? "

"Large Brown Bag? Now, Abby … that's just stupid. Big Brown Bag, that has a good ring. But Large Brown Bag? C'mon …"

"Hey, watch what you say … I might start crying again."

"And I might just leave. Then you'll have to lug this enormous armload of clothing around all by yourself."

"You won't leave."

"Why not?"

"Carter would kill you. If you leave me here to carry all those clothes the ten feet from here to the dressing room, he'd have a fit. Trust me." This requires an eye roll to denote all that I put up with.

"Overprotective?"

"Ha! Understatement of the century … I don't care if there are 98 years left in the century, that right there will win hands down. The man would spoon feed me if I would let him. I think he would be happiest if I would just stay in bed all day. He's always telling me to go lie down. But hey, he does do all the housework. I haven't had to lift a finger since he found out he knocked me up. I don't know if it's guilt or just first time father nerves, but I'm gonna try and enjoy it. Even if it can be annoying as hell. Yesterday? He really DID spoon feed me. After the midnight ice cream run. Like maybe getting the spoon to my face was gonna tire me out inordinately or something. Wouldn't want to stress out the baby by lifting my arm up and down with ice cream on a spoon or anything. Can you believe it?"

"No. That's horrible. Rotten jerk. I don't know why you put up with him, Ab."

"Cause he's cute."

"Yeah, and smart. And rich. And funny. And sweet. And now you're having his baby. And it's all thanks to me. You know? I think I hate you."

"Well, maybe we'll name the baby after you."

"What if it's a boy?"

"A boy named Sue. What's wrong with that? Now come on, time to go try on some ugly maternity clothes."

"Yeah, Abby. It really sucks to be you."

"Jealous?"

"No, not at all."

Somehow I don't think she means that. But she's laughing behind that armload of clothes she's dragging to the dressing room. Well, this little fashion show should only take a few hours and most of my positive self-image. But as I pat that little bump under my sweater, I figure it's worth it.