I call for my aide through the intercom.
Yes, sir?
Tell Leo it's tonight and then tell Josh I need to see him at 8 o'clock, I instruct. After the dinner thing.
Yes, sir, the young man answers.
***
But is it really an issue? Donna asks rhetorically.
She's resting on my misappropriated sofa while we go through the writings and ramblings of our Supreme Court candidates.
I still don't know. I doubt it, but this guy bugs me, I sigh, dropping the brief we're dissecting onto my desk with a groan.
I justÉ Donna stops and makes a face.
Are you alright? I'm starting to get concerned.
This is the third time she's done that in the past hour.
I'm fine, she waves it off. It's just cramps.
Charlie sticks his head in before I can follow up on the cramps.
Charles! Come on in!
Please, anything to break up the monotony of legal mumbo-jumbo. Picking a guy for the Supreme Court is cool the first time and mind-numbing as hell the second.
The President wants to see you at eight tonight. After the dinner thing.
***
Neither of us is thrilled about the dinner thing. It's an early evening formal for the new Poet Laureate.
Josh wants to get as much of the vetting on this candidate done as we can before we leave for Wisconsin, and Freddy's high school graduation, in the morning.
Me? I just couldn't find any attractive maternity formalwear.
Any idea what he wants? Josh asks Charlie.
None whatsoever. I can tell you you're his last appointment of the day, Charlie raises his eyebrows at my husband and then turns to me. How's your back, Donna?
7 weeks, Charlie. Ask me in 7 weeks.
***
The dinner and poetry reading breaks up just before eight.
Giving Donna a kiss and the car keys, I shake my head at her unspoken questions. I have no idea, but I'll walk home.
I get another kiss, promising more when I get home, and a sympathetic look.
I'm sure I'll be up, she smiles.
Shaking a few hands, I head towards the Oval Office.
Mr. Lyman? one of the Secret Service agents grabs me. The President and Mr. McGarry are in the private study.
I change course for the Residence, wondering what's going on.
Come on in, Josh, the President is waiting for me with a glass of scotch. Have a seat.
What the hell is this?
I'm sure you're wondering what's going on, Bartlet begins after I get situated.
A couple of things, actually, son. Leo picks the ball up. We're going to implement your Homeland Security Office reorganization plan as submitted.
Wow. I was certain it would get shredded in the review process.
We want to make it a cabinet level position. Obviously, Tom Colburn isn't the man, the President continues. Now, Josh, Leo and I aren't trying to get rid of you or anything. We truly value the work you're doing now, but you would be our first choice for the Director of Homeland Security.
I have to remind myself to breathe.
Flattering as the offer may be, reality comes crashing down around me before I can even exhale. You want to submit my name to the Senate for confirmation as the Director of Homeland Security?
I'm unconfirmable.
I antagonize and browbeat Senators. The 49 of them who are Democrats hate me. We won't even talk about the 48 Republicans and 2 Independents.
And I'm not anymore qualified than Tom Colburn.
Leo grimaces, instantly understanding my point and the President isn't far behind.
What are your plans? Leo leans back in his chair.
I ponder this sudden interest in my political future while swirling the scotch in my glass. Wisconsin's 2nd District is an entrenched Democrat. There's a Senate seat up in '06, though. A retiring Republican.
You're going to run for the Senate out of Wisconsin? the President asks in the same disbelieving tone I used earlier.
I nod. Possibly, sir. I've touched base with the state party chair, to make sure they hadn't tabbed somebody already.
Courtesy call? Leo confirms.
President Bartlet repeats, clearly having more trouble with the Wisconsin part than the Senate part.
Yes, sir. I live there now. I acknowledge my recent change in residency.
Hoynes has been making noise about bringing you back on board, the President sips his drink. He thinks you know how to sink Ritchie for good.
I purse my lips, trying to frame my response correctly. I do know how to sink Ritchie, but I'm not sharing that information with anyone right now. Let's just say Donna and I dug up a lot of dirt we didn't use in 2002.
I'm not interested in running other people's campaigns anymore. I've done it for 20 years and I'm tired of it. I found my real thing and I can't go back to mediocrity. If I'm going to put my family through the rigors of a national campaign, sir, it's going to be my own.
My two mentors trade an indecipherable look.
Speaking of your family, that's the other reason we brought you up here, President Bartlet gets up and refreshes his drink.
We're going to impart, what would you say, Leo? 75 years of paternal wisdom?
Leo undoes his tie. It's natural to be nervous, Josh. Anyone with the desire to be a good father is going to worry about it.
Oh God.
The fatherhood lecture.
Like I wasn't nervous enough before.
***
Getting home, I'm too wound up to watch TV, and we're both packed for tomorrow, so I wander into the almost-finished nursery.
Josh caved, like I knew he would, and bought the crib and rocking chair to match the cradle. We also commissioned a dresser, toy chest and changing table.
They'll be done around the end of June.
I got the wallpaper border and curtains last week, along with some self-adhesive mural stickers for the walls. It's a baby farm animal scene. Mostly ducks, sheep and cows.
I wanted to do painted stencils, but I'm not artistic enough and painting the walls taxed Josh's skills.
The stickers will do fine.
***
They wouldn't let me anywhere near the delivery room, even when Zoey was born. The President is on his fifth scotch and I've heard detailed descriptions on everything from false labor with Elizabeth to Ellie's colic to Zoey's jaundice.
Leo started this by asking if I was planning on being present for the birth.
Like Donna would let me miss it.
Have you two agreed on names? Leo shifts gears.
Donna wants me to pick them out and surprise her. I've got some ideas, but I figured I'd meet the kid first, then decide for sure.
She gave you naming rights? Leo gapes at me.
She doesn't know about the fish, I blush, knowing the incident Leo's thinking of.
My parents refused to let me have a pet as a child. Mom finally relented enough to get me two fish for my seventh birthday.
I named them Red Fish and Blue Fish.
In my own defense, I was seven and Dr. Seuss was still cool.
They died a week later because I forgot to feed them.
For a week.
Leo laughs. At least you won't be in charge of feeding the kid.
Evidently, he remembers how the fish met their demise as well.
***
It's eleven and Josh isn't home, yet.
My back still aches and the Braxton Hicks contractions have started again.
I've been having them on and off since my last doctor's appointment two days ago. Dr. Williams thinks the six pounds I gained in the past two weeks probably triggered them.
In a feeble attempt to not worry Josh, I've been telling him they're just cramps.
He's worrying anyway.
A warm bath helped last night and sounds inviting again this evening. I pour some bath salts and bubbles in the water and climb in.
Resting my head against the lip of the tub, I run my hands over my extended belly. The feel of my uterus contracting slightly in a practice run for the real thing is just amazing.
I am in awe of what my body is going to do in seven short weeks.
Labor isn't something I'm letting myself fear, mostly because I refuse to believe the hype about the pain.
Oh, I'm sure there will be plenty, but my research indicates a positive mental outlook leads to a more positive, less painful birth experience.
Then again, I consider as the bear takes a kick at my kidneys, I'm having Josh's child.
Nothing will go as planned.
***
Donna seems to be a much happier pregnant woman than Jenny was, Leo lit a cigar about thirty minutes ago.
I think he's trying to get high on nicotine.
She doesn't know I know this, I can't help but smirk. But she loves being pregnant.
The two older men both stare at me in disbelief. No woman loves being pregnant, Josh.
I heard her tell her mother. No lie. I polish off my second scotch and contemplate another.
How many are you thinking of having? President Bartlet asks. I assume he's referring to kids and not scotch.
As many as we have. Donna doesn't plan to go back on the pill and there is no way I'm getting snipped, I declare, crossing my legs unconsciously.
We all look at each other uncomfortably for a moment.
The worst is teaching them to drive, the President shifts gears again.
Leo nods his agreement. Mal wouldn't talk to me for a month after our first session.
***
Pulling the drain on the tub, I notice some mildew in the grout under the spigot.
I grab an old toothbrush and some non-toxic cleaner from under the sink and surrender to the all-consuming urge to scrub.
***
My crappy watch says it's 1 a.m. when I stumble up the steps to our apartment.
The Secret Service drove me home after President Bartlet finally exceeded his personal alcohol limit.
The only light is shining from the master bathroom.
Donna? What are you doing?
She's naked, on her hands and knees, scrubbing the bathroom floor with a toothbrush.
***
Blowing a stray hair out of my face, I push myself onto my knees.
I'm nesting, Josh. Get over it.
He takes an unsteady step towards me and helps me to my feet.
President Bartlet fed him scotch.
he answers before I can ask, running a thumb over one of my nipples until it puckers in anticipation. He and Leo spent five hours inducting me into some sort of ‘Father Knows Best' fraternity.
Josh dips his head, replacing his thumb with his mouth. His teeth pull gently as he sucks.
Almost before I know what's happening, I feel a sudden release deep within my breast.
***
I cup her other breast in my hand while I attend the first.
Donna's gasp reaches my ears the same time a thick, nasty tasting liquid contacts my tongue.
Swallowing instinctively, I almost choke on it.
What the hell? I gag.
My milk let down. Donna wipes her thumb over the offending nipple, showing me a yellowish fluid.
You mean they work? I'm flabbergasted. I thought that wouldn't happen until after the baby was born.
Donna smacks me on the shoulder. Of course they work, you dork.
***
I shed my clothes and help Donna get comfortable. She falls asleep tonight with little problem.
I, however, find myself staring at the darkened ceiling.
Wiggling around, I rest my head on Donna's thighs.
Hey, Bear, I whisper. It's Daddy. How's the growing going?
Biting my lip, I think about all the things I want my child to know.
Daddy loves you very much, little bear. I promise I'm going to tell you so every day. Even when you're 15 and hate me. I'll read you a story every night before you go to sleep and protect you from the monsters under your bed. I'll teach you to throw a baseball and shoot a basketball. I'll even teach you to drive, I pause to kiss Donna's stomach. And I'm going to be there when you come out and at every step along the way. I promise.