Sara's POV:
I spend a lot of time staring in the mirror. I've never been concerned about my appearance, but I am easily transfixed by my swollen stomach. I gently smooth my shirt over my stomach. I'm smiling. The tears are falling down my face, but I have never been so happy.
The house is bare. We've been living out of boxes for the last three weeks. Neither of us has had time to unpack. Our time has been spent going to doctor appointments and finalizing the marriage certificate and my name change. We've gone to Dallas, so I could meet his family. I'm not sure if they liked me; they made it very clear that they were not happy that we eloped in Vegas. I was glad we did; after three days with his family, I was glad to be returning home to our new house. I haven't talked to my family in months; they don't know about the pregnancy . . . they don't know about the marriage. I don't think they have the right to be apart of my happiness. I had come to accept that I was unwanted, but I also learned that you can still love something or someone that wasn't necessarily planned for. I wished my parents would learn that. A lot of things change in four months.
I'm thankful that things can change so quickly.
I can feel the baby moving. I know that we are having a baby boy; Nick flips between wanting to know and not wanting to know. It's an hourly struggle inside his mind; his indecisiveness makes me laugh. It makes him innocent; when he's fighting those internal struggles, I can see this childish side to his personality. I pray that our child gets that from his father; I want our child to stay innocent. I don't want him to live with the burdens that Nick and I faced at such a young age. I want to protect our child from everything bad that happens in the world, but I want out child to know that it is his parents' job to fight for those that have been hurt by the actions of others. I guess I want to raise an innocent, indecisive humanitarian. I'm not sure if those adjectives are suitable to precede that verb.
I spend most of the time praying for the health of our baby. No matter how many tests confirm that our child is healthy, I still feel as though they might be wrong. I worry about preterm labor even tough the obstetrician tells me that I am having the picture perfect pregnancy. I know Nick has the same worries; I occasionally hear him talking to my belly at night. He asks the baby to please stop making mommy throw up all the time; he asks the baby to be healthy and to keep mommy healthy. Those prayers bring me to tears. He tells our baby that he or she . . . he always says he or she . . . will be loved by so many people. He says that he or she will be loved more than any other. Nick is right; I've learned to love someone that I haven't even met. I've learned to let myself be vulnerable around Nick; I've learned to let him love me without questioning fidelity. I've learned that Nick will never hurt me like the others have.
I have learned so much so quickly.
I am thankful for my newfound wisdom.
Grissom asks about the baby; he asks if I am happy. I know it hurts him to know that I am happy. For the first time in my life, I know what it is like to be completely satisfied with my life. I have it all; I have a doting husband and a perfect pregnancy . . . despite the vomiting, bloating, and swelling. Nick tells me that I am glowing; Grissom tells me that I am beautiful. I tell myself that I look like a whale, but it's not what's on the outside that counts. It's the inside; it's my baby that makes being a whale a beautiful thing.
I've let Grissom feel the baby kick. He said that it was surreal. Grissom told me that I am truly blessed; I told him that he doesn't believe in the intangible. I heard him mutter that maybe that needs to change. I think Grissom is beginning to realize that there is some significance to being swept up in feelings and thoughts that have no tangible basis. These are the thoughts that cannot be fingerprinted and cannot be run in any of the computers in the lab. I think Grissom is beginning to see that there is something about the intangible that might free his soul. I know that I am feeling a freedom that I never knew existed.
Greg has officially named himself 'Uncle Greg.' I know Greg will make a great 'uncle' to our son. I know that I can count on him to be there for our child if Nick or I cannot. I know that Greg will do everything possible to keep my baby safe. Nick always shows Greg ultrasounds and stuff before anyone else is privy to the knowledge. Many times, Nick has credited Greg for pointing him in the right direction. I wonder what would have happened if Greg wasn't the one to take me to the hospital nearly a year ago; I am thankful that tragedy brought us all together. Tragedy could have easily done the opposite.
Warrick and Catherine are working in Seattle. They left for professional reasons; Grissom didn't come to work for a week after. Catherine said she needed a place where she could grow as a professional; Warrick said that he wanted to give Catherine the home life that Grissom's watchful eye always seemed to interfere with. They keep in contact with Nick and I; they are excited about my baby. They are even more excited about their own pregnancy. I'm glad they are happy, but I still miss them.
"I need to know . . . boy or girl," Nick said as he walked into the bedroom. I'm still inspecting the largeness of my belly in the mirror.
"You don't want to know," I tease.
"I don't . . . I do. Wait," Nick says frantically. He looks truly distressed over the decision he must make. He gently puts a finger over my lips to silence me.
"Have you started to think about names yet?" I asked. I knew he hadn't; he was grappling with the decision of what color the nursery should be. He would go to Home Depot every weekend, but come back only with a handful of paint swatches. There were easily forty pain swatches sitting on the kitchen counter.
"I don't know," Nick said. His forehead wrinkled; I kissed his cheek, "Should I be?"
"I've already thought of a few names," I replied. I scramble to think of girl's names because I know he will ask what I am thinking about.
"What do you like?" Nick asks.
"For a girl . . . I like Lydia, Gina, and Autumn. For a boy, I like Justin, Alexander, and Tomas," I reply. I hope he doesn't notice the slight pause I needed to take to think of girl's names.
"For a girl . . . Lily or Lydia. For a boy . . . Cole or Patrick," Nick says seriously.
"I like them," I replied. Nick was standing behind me. His arms around my waist; his hands were resting on my stomach. I can feel the baby immediately begin to swat at Nick's hand. Nick tells our baby to mind his mother. He's going to be a great father; he's already a great husband, friend, and lover.
"I want to know . . . Sara, tell me. I'm serious this time," Nick says. Something in his voice has changed; I do know that he is serious, but I wait for a minute. I wait for him to change his mind, but he asks me again to tell him.
"A boy . . . we're having a boy," I whisper. I can't stop smiling.
"I'm going to have a son," Nick whispered. I could feel his tears on my neck. I couldn't think of how my life could be any better, but I knew it would. I knew this would only get better. Unwanted circumstances had give way to something that I never imagined wanting, but I know it is something that I never want to give up.
FIN