I am a firm believer in schedules. Five years as Josh's assistant impressed upon me the importance of having them and adhering to them, whether Josh likes it or not.
Babies, like Josh, require schedules whether they realize it or not.
The problem I have is this: my baby is also Josh's baby.
Like his father, David prefers to set his own schedule, no matter how inconvenient it is for me, and then frequently changes it without bothering to inform me.
After weeks of false starts and failed attempts, we've finally found a routine that currently seems to work for all of us.
I take care of the 3 a.m. feeding, letting Josh sleep through it. He gets up at 5 and goes for his run. When he gets back, David is usually just waking again. He changes the baby's diaper and makes coffee before getting me up to feed the child again while he showers.
Josh is done getting dressed about the same time David is done with breakfast. Dad then reads the editorials in the Post to his son while they watch CNN and I get myself cleaned up.
It's naptime when Josh leaves for work, giving me some personal peace in the morning to watch the sunrise and the Today Show.
That Matt Lauer guy is pretty hot.
This morning, I'm bending over the cradle to settle David in for his morning nap when I am suddenly overcome by nausea.
I'm still crouching in front of the toilet vomiting when Josh's cool hands gather the hair out of my face. I thought he'd already headed out the door.
I feel fine. I protest weakly, letting my husband pamper me anyway.
This is three days in a row, he whispers, obviously having been more observant than I thought he was. You should see a doctor.
I have an appointment this morning with Dr. Williams for my six week checkup, I reply after rinsing my mouth out.
Not that I think this is anything serious. I just didn't think it could happen so soon.
Granted, Josh and I resumed having sex the day David came home from the hospital, but still
Damn.
After assuring Josh I'll be fine, I send him off to work and get dressed. My appointment is at 9.
***
The bullpen is a disaster when I get to the office.
Chris is leisurely browsing through stacks of legal journals trying to absorb everything our leading candidate for the Supreme Court ever wrote.
Debbie is polishing off a Danish and arguing with somebody on the phone.
Neither of them has filed a thing in the past six weeks and the paperwork is starting to overwhelm the available space.
Donna's office is a repository for all the things they don't want to do. I've been trying to convince them to actually put the stuff where it belongs, but it seems to be beyond them.
Not unlike my schedule.
My hastily scribbled notes seem to indicate I'm supposed to be in the Oval Office all day. There's a copy of the President's agenda for the day on my chair, so that must be what it means. I pick it up and glance through it to see what kind of day it will be.
Since the day started ten minutes ago, I'm going to assume it's going to be one of those days.
I skid through the outer office into the Senior Staff meeting, drawing a look of pity from Charlie as I dash past.
Nice of you to join us, Leo's acerbic comment interrupts Sam's recital of where we're at in the Supreme Court nomination process.
A report I was supposed to present.
Shit!
***
The nurses and receptionist at the OB's office make the requisite cooing noises over the baby while I wait.
Donna Lyman? Dr. Williams calls, to the dismay of the assembled thong. Come on back.
Leave him here, Cindy, the front desk receptionist, says. I'll watch him.
David seems fascinated by the woman's large, outlandish earrings and she seems taken by his dimples, so I leave them to entertain one another.
How are you feeling? Dr. Williams asks once I get up on the exam table. Sore nipples, spotting, bleeding?
I've been sick the past couple of mornings, I offer, pretty sure I'm blushing.
She raises an eyebrow at me and shakes her head before pulling out a syringe, easily reading between the lines. Can the man not keep his hands off of you?
Isn't this physically impossible? I give up my arm so she can draw blood for the test.
Six weeks? she asks, tilting her head as she considers my question. Impossible? No. Uncommon? Yes.
***
Everything okay? President Bartlet inquires after the room empties. We have about five minutes between the end of Senior Staff and the beginning of today's first meeting.
Yes, sir. Everything's fine, I lie, my thoughts alternating between Donna puking her guts out the past few days and the mess in the bullpen.
he announces, glancing at the door to Leo's office. We've got a couple of minutes. Sit down and tell me what the problem is between you and the man.
I wasn't even thinking about Leo or his relationship with my mother. Which is rare lately; that subject has been occupying a disproportionate amount of my time.
Josh, you haven't let yourself be alone in a room with Leo since the David's bris three weeks ago. What's going on?
It's nothing, sir. I have no desire to get into this today. Especially with the President. Things are just fine between Leo and I.
He snorts, but Charlie knocks and announces the first appointment of the day before he can comment.
***
I'm pregnant again.
Oh God.
I'm not even sure what I can handle one baby and I'm going to have two of them? Both under the age of one?
Oh God.
What is Josh going to say?
I know we keep saying we'll have as many kids as we have, but I'm almost certain we both figured there would a little time between them.
Like a year or so.
***
All in all, sir, we don't think the information is reliable enough to raise the threat level, Chuck Hills finishes.
Chuck is the former CEO of a government defense contractor. He was unanimously confirmed by the Senate as the Director of Homeland Security three weeks ago. He's been doing a tremendous job of banging heads together at both the CIA and the FBI and gearing up for the departmental consolidation coming down the pike in the next few months.
They're still keeping an eye on that potential cell in Florida? the President asks, closing the briefing folder and standing.
Yes, sir, Chuck replies.
Excellent. Keep up the good work. Bartlet ushers the man and his aides towards the door.
Yes, sir.
He shakes his head after he closes the door behind them, turning his attention back to me. Now, where were we? Oh, that's right. There's nothing wrong between you and Leo.
A glance at the clock on his desk informs me the meeting with Hills went 15 minutes short and with the scheduled break, President Bartlet has almost thirty minutes to harangue me about Leo.
That's correct, sir. There's nothing wrong between Leo and I, I repeat, deciding to try to make an escape. Sir? I really could use this time to check in with my assistants. With Donna being out
He looks vaguely disappointed but waves me off for the moment. You can run, but you can't hide. You're locked in here all day with me.
The scene I find in the bullpen hasn't changed from earlier. The phones are ringing off the hook, Chris is ignoring them and Debbie is
Where's Debbie?
Chris looks up from his reading. She went to Communications to talk to somebody about something.
Would it kill either of you to file the shit you've piled up in Donna's office? I growl, staring at a stack of reports in danger of toppling off a cabinet.
I thought you wanted this research done on Smith?
I want the research done. I want Donna's office cleaned up. I want the bullpen to not look like a tornado just blew through it! And, I'd like one of the TWO of you to show enough initiative to be trusted with scheduling! My voice gets incrementally louder throughout my rant until I've managed to bring what work was being done to a complete halt.
Debbie returned at some point between research and the tornado reference and now looks set to run off and bawl. Ed and Larry are lurking a few desks away, looking fascinated at the computer printout they're both holding. The rest of the staff sits in stunned silence for a heartbeat until the phones start ringing again and life resumes.
Get it done! I demand, turning on my heel and heading back to the Oval Office. Being pestered about Leo is better than dealing with laziness and incompetence.
***
Despite the plethora of baby stuff we got as gifts, I've discovered David needs more clothes. Since I'm out and about already, I'm going to just take care of some shopping. It's a sign from above that the stroller is still in the Blazer. David fell asleep during the ride from the pediatrician's office to the mall, but wakes when I get him out of the car seat.
It's okay, I coo, trying to keep the infant from screaming bloody murder. It's been about three hours since breakfast, so I figure the little guy's getting hungry. Stuffing the diaper bag into the rack under the stroller, we take off across the parking lot.
Once inside, I beeline it for the bathroom and seclude myself in the lounge to breastfeed my increasingly fussy child. I'm one of those people who are uncomfortable at the sight of other people breastfeeding, let alone doing it in public myself. I think this is as private as I'm going to get at the mall.
Looking down at David, stroking his curly, dark brown hair, I feel my heart melting at the prospect of having another baby.
I can do this, I tell myself. Josh and I can do this together.
We might be making it up as we go, but according to my mother and Josh's, that's normal.
I shed a lot of insecurities about mothering during the three weeks David was in the hospital. The silver lining to his extended stay at George Washington University Medical Center was how much I learned from the nursing staff about handling him, feeding him, changing him and not panicking when he starts wailing.
How are we going to tell your daddy about this? I ask David rhetorically while changing his diaper.
***
Leo is in the Oval Office when I get back. He scowls at me, but heads back to his own office before I can say anything.
Nothing's wrong, my ass, President Bartlet mutters. I'm about half a step from locking the two of you in a closet until you get this nothing sorted out.
Even I'll admit things between Leo and I have deteriorated rapidly over the past couple of weeks. I don't know what exactly happened. I do know I don't know how to treat him. Acting like he's nothing more than my boss is what probably started this whole mess, but I'm not ready to accept him dating my mother.
If he is dating my mother.
Which is what Mamme keeps insinuating.
***
I figure I've got a pretty small window before David start to protest our shopping excursion. Therefore, I'm not very picky about the clothes I'm selecting for him. Nothing overly girly is the only standard.
I doubt Josh would appreciate our son dressed a pink, lacy outfit and matching bonnet.
Maybe I should get it in case the next one's a girl.
But what if it's a boy?
How am I going to tell Josh?
ÔHow did you tell him last time?' the little voice in my head asks.
Hmm, that might work.
I'd have to find a new teddy bear, though.
David's still asleep, so I've got a little more time. I pay for the clothes and go in search of the mall's toy store.
***
How are things at home?
It's become 20 questions from hell today.
It's a good thing Donna and I are already accustomed to erratic hours and not sleeping regularly, sir. I'm sure it's the only reason we're still functional.
President Bartlet gives me an odd look. You know I heard, through the grape vine, you didn't sleep through the night until you were almost a year old.
I've heard the same story from my mother numerous times, but wonder where he heard it. I disagree, sir. I don't think I've ever slept through the night.
he chuckles.
Family legend, sir, I answer his unspoken question. May I ask who told you?
His eyes flick towards Leo's office. An old friend of your father's.
***
Josh is in a meeting when I stop by the West Wing to drop off the teddy bear.
Chris and Debbie are both around, but neither of them knows when he'll be back. The bullpen is a mess; with great effort I resist the urge to organize, settling for reminding the two assistants they aren't above filing. In fact, it's a vital part of their jobs; jobs they won't have if I get back from maternity leave and the place still looks like this.
I find Josh's schedule on his desk. Apparently, he's been managing it himself. Deciphering his notes, I discover he's not in a meeting, he's staffing the President. Which means he won't be back any time soon.
I set the gift bag I'm carrying on the floor, perch David's carrier on Josh's chair and attempt to uncover the desk itself.
Two hours later, I find the dark oak surface and call it a day. Leaving the package strategically positioned in the middle of the newly organized chaos, I head out.
***
Donna promised to call when she found out what's wrong, but I haven't heard from her all day. I hope it's just exhaustion or something minor. Worry about her is my foremost concern today, by far overwhelming the quandary of Leo and Mamme.
My assistants are both gone when the President's day is finally over. The bullpen is dark, but my reading lamp is on, casting its light on a shiny, pale green gift bag.
From the neatly organized piles with Postits and index cards, I can tell Donna's been in and couldn't resist straightening the mess on my desk.
I wonder who left us another baby gift and pull away the pale yellow tissue paper to reveal a light tancolored teddy bear.
Then my eyes fall on the tag written in my wife's distinctive handwriting.
Everything is fine.
Everything is fine?
For the last three mornings Donna's been puking her guts out as I'm walking out the door. She goes to see a doctor and then leaves me a note, attached to a teddy bear, saying everything is fine?
I'm confused.
I mean, really confused.
Drawing the fuzzy bear from the bag, it's as if a light switch gets flipped in my brain.
I think I know what this means.
I know what it meant the last time Donna gave me a teddy bear.
Can it happen this fast?
David's barely 6 weeks old.
Donna and I have had sex like four times.
Can people be that fertile?
How many teddy bears does one kid need? Sam interrupts my mental ramblings.
It isn't for David, I reply absently, rolling the toy between my hands, marveling at how fast my family seems to be growing.
You're a little old for a teddy bear, don't you think?
Wow.
Sam is looking at me expectantly.
It's from Donna. I'm intentionally vague.
Best friend or not, I'm trying to get out of here. I need to check in with Leo, as briefly as possible, and then go home. My week of Family and Medical Leave starts tomorrow. I wanted to take more, but since Donna and I work at the same place, we're only entitled to 12 weeks between us.
Of course, taking leave for me means working parttime.
Which sort of defeats the purpose of taking the time, I guess, but I'm trying here.
Sam asks again, looking at the teddy bear I'm still holding.
It's from Donna, I repeat. If I explain it, we'll be here longer than I want to be.
Sam crosses his arms and leans against the door. Why did your wife give you a teddy bear?
I don't know, I misdirect, stuffing a bunch of files in my backpack and standing back up.
Has she ever given you a teddy bear before? My friend trails me down the hall towards Leo's office.
I admit.
What for?
Twenty more feet and I can dump him off on Margaret.
Christmas last year, I answer, turning to the redhaired assistant. Can I?
Go on in, Josh. Her gaze shifts to the teddy bear under my arm. Cute bear.
I end the conversation by closing Leo's door in Sam's confused face. I need to find that guy a girlfriend.
You leaving? Leo looks up from his desk, his expression a perfect example of carefully schooled neutrality.
I pull a couple of files out of my backpack. This is the final recommendation on the Supreme Court appointment and the markup on FMLA and the first
What's with the bear? he interrupts.
Donna left it for me, I pull it from under my arm and study it again, hoping it means what I think it means.
Leo makes a humph noise and starts flipping through the files I gave him. Not having been dismissed, I wait quietly.
Okay, I'll bite, Leo breaks the silence. Why did Donna leave you a bear?
Thinking it through, I figure I'll have to come clean sooner or later. Might as well bite the bullet up front. I'm not sure, but the last time she gave me a teddy bear, it was to tell me she was pregnant.
Leo drops the files and stares up at me, all pretense of disinterest vanishing. Donna's pregnant? Again?
I don't know for sure, I shrug and shove my hands in my pockets. I'm not certain how these things work. I haven't talked to her since this morning. But we have been you know
His mouth flaps open a couple of times as he stares at me for the longest time and I watch the annoyance dissipate from his eyes. Your mother would be ecstatic to be a grandmother again so soon.
Yeah, well, you'd know better than I would.
Oh God, I said that out loud.
Excuse me? Leo's eyes narrow and the aggravation returns.
I backpedal hastily. Nothing. I'm sorry I said that. Let's just drop it.
No, we will not just drop it. You've been stomping through the West Wing acting like I shot your dog for the past three weeks. What the hell is your problem?
It's nothing. I'm sorry, I apologize again, wracking my brain for a good excuse. I'm just tired and I know that's not an acceptable reason, but
You're right. It's not an acceptable reason, because it's bullshit and we both know it. Your mother says you haven't called her in two weeks, either. Now. What is the problem?
Why am I not surprised he's talked to Mamme?
Sounds like you spend an awful lot of time talking to my mother, I observe, feeling the short hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
She called me wondering if I knew what your problem was. Is this about her staying with me when she was up here last time?
My mother's social life is none of my business, I reply, bitterness seeping through despite my best efforts.
Leo purses his lips and just looks at me for the longest time before he gets up and walks around the desk. You're right, it isn't. Your mother cares about you a great deal. She's extremely hurt that you're apparently upset with her.
I'm not upset with my mother, I interrupt, sick of being lectured today.
Then why the hell are you acting like a spoiled 10yearold? Leo retorts.
Why are you acting like you're my father? Because I gotta tell you, you're not and you're never going to be. I fire back.
***
The pieces of this convoluted little puzzle finally snap into place with Josh's angry outburst.
He thinks I'm trying to replace Noah.
Since March, Elisa's been playing up our relationship to him, without ever actually confirming or denying its existence. She thinks it's amusing to get him all wound up about the possibility of her starting to date.
Then Elisa comes up for David's bris and stays with me instead of at their apartment, something she's never done before. Logically, Josh and Donna's apartment isn't big enough for three adults and a newborn nor do they have a guestroom anymore. It really made more sense for her to stay with me.
I doubt Josh really saw the logic in it. All he saw was his mother rejecting his hospitality in favor of mine.
Jed and I surely haven't helped his perception over the past several weeks: hauling him into the Residence as though he's our son and we have the right to share our experiences with him; both of us acting like we're entitled to call that adorable child our grandson.
I remember how lost I was when Mallory first came home, how unsure I was about everything. It's very easy to understand how those insecurities could be magnified by the past month.
I reach out to touch his arm. I'm not trying to replace your dad. I have too much respect for Noah and you love him too much for me to even dream about that.
***
It's as if he channeled my mother and read my mind. I stare at the floor, trying to compose an appropriate response difficult to do when you're not sure how you feel about what you're responding to.
Go home to your wife and kid, Leo says gruffly, before I can come up with anything. Don't forget the security briefing tomorrow morning at 7:30.
***
Josh's voice is a tad squeaky when he comes home to find me enjoying a hot bubble bath.
You're late, I chastise him, lifting one leg out of the bubbles.
I had to talk to Leo. Josh looks over his shoulder into our bedroom. David asleep?
For the moment. Did you get things worked out? I know he's still having trouble with Elisa's relationship with Leo and it's beginning to effect his ability to work with Leo.
He shrugs. Sort of. Is the water still hot?
I let the Leo thing go. Josh will talk to me about it when he's ready.
Want company?
He strips off his clothes and wads them into a ball before pitching them into the other room. I scoot forward and allow him to slip in the tub behind me.
I lean back against the firm muscles of his chest, running my hands along the outside of his legs.
You were very stealthy today, Josh mentions, the palms of his hands resting on my newly flat hips.
I yelled at the assistants while I was there. I almost made Debbie cry.
I make Debbie cry every day, it doesn't help. I almost want my old assistant back. He emphasizes the word almost' by moving his hands up to my stomach. My old assistant organizes my desk before she leaves mysterious packages on it.
Your old assistant is impervious to you, too, I point out.
My old assistant is also very cryptic, Josh counters, lowering his lips to my collarbone.
Your old assistant was very straightforward. Your wife is very cryptic, I correct.
I'm disappointed he didn't pick up on what the bear means.
Does the bear mean what I think it means, he asks, reading my mind while nibbling up the back of my neck.
It means the same thing the other bear meant. I tilt my head back so he can kiss his way back down to the hollow of my throat.
That's what I thought it meant, but I wasn't sure it could happen so fast.
You're okay with this? I ask just to be sure.
Shouldn't I be asking you that? You're the one who said two weeks ago you wanted not to be pregnant for a while. His hands slowly wind their way to my thighs. His fingers, softened by the bubble bath, send spikes of anticipation through my body.
I'm good with it, I sink deeper into the warm water.
Are you going to be as insatiable with this cub as you were last time? The pitch of his voice has lowered significantly over the course of our conversation.
***
I continue to kiss her neck and stroke her slowly, allowing my other hand randomly roams her silky skin.
Let's get out of the tub. I finally suggest when I can no longer stand the rub of her body against my erection.
She stands wordlessly and picks her giant towel from the rack, wrapping it around herself. I follow her out of the tub and stand before her, aching to touch her.
Lifting my hand to her face, I trace the contours of her jaw before punctuating my touch with a deep kiss. Donna opens her towel and wraps it around me as well, enclosing us both in its fuzziness.
I have a secret, she whispers when my lips travel to her tasty neck.
I ask hoarsely.
I really like being pregnant, she shares.
Her hands let go of the towel and her hips grind into Spongebob.
That's good, I reply, trying to think of something nonRepublicanesque about how I feel about her pregnancy. Because I like making babies with you.
Good answer, she murmurs.
Her fingernails scrape up my sides then down my back.
***
This is a sure thing, right? I mumble lazily, allowing my hands to slowly caress Donna's back.
Mm hmm. Donna is tracing my earlobe with her fingernail.
We should call the grandparents.
Leo was right about one thing, my mother is going to be ecstatic at the prospect of another grandchild.
Donna's talented lips disengage from my neck. Do you want a girl or another boy?
I'll be happy if it's healthy. The thought of repeating what we went through with David is harrowing.
Do you want to try to find out?
I shrug. I'm willing to be surprised if you are.
It was kind of fun not knowing. She sits back and puts her hands on my chest. Let's be surprised.
I'm good with surprised.
***
Nice hickey. CJ grabs my chin and tilts it to get a better look.
Having just emerged from a mindnumbing national security briefing no imminent national threats my verbal sparring skills aren't up to par.
Yeah. Donna gave it to me. I follow her into the Oval Office.
I would certainly hope so, she laughs. I hear that's not the only thing Donna gave you.
Donna giving you random gifts, Josh? President Bartlet unbuttons his suit jacket and settles into one of the chairs.
Kind of, I glance around, trying to decide how much to say. Donna and I didn't discuss telling anyone other than our immediate family, which we haven't done yet.
Then again, if this group of people isn't family, who is?
Abbey stopped giving me random gifts years ago, he gets a wistful look on his face that quickly melts into a smirk. Forcing me to live vicariously through others. What did your lovely wife get you?
I squirm under the attention being focused my way. She didn't really get me anything.
According to Margaret you were carrying around a handmade teddy bear she was almost certain came from some place in Leesburg, Virginia, Toby offers. From his grimace, I can tell Margaret cornered him and he was lucky to escape with his sanity.
It wasn't for me, I qualify.
It wasn't. It was for the cub.
You never did tell me who it was for, Sam jumps on the bandwagon.
Let me understand this correctly, the President leans forward. Donna gave you a handmade teddy bear, only it wasn't for you. Margaret and Sam have both seen this bear, but neither of them know who it's for. They are, along with the rest of us, undoubtedly curious. I can only assume you know who the intended recipient is. Would you care to enlighten us?
Not really, I mutter under my breath, feeling like it'd be jinxing something to tell anyone this early.
I'm sorry, what did you say? the President raises his eyebrows, not believing I'd actually refuse to participate in his little game.
I said, of course, sir. I can feel myself turning beet red. It's for the baby.
You told me it wasn't for David, Sam accuses.
It's not for David, I reiterate. It's for the baby.
President Bartlet throws his hands up. The last time I checked, you and Donna only had one child. Did you adopt one while the rest of us weren't looking?
No, sir, I duck my head to conceal my smirk. And we presently do only have the one, but
CJ's shocked look tells me she's caught on. But not in, say, nine months? By then you might have two?
Donna's due on April 3rd, I can't keep the grin from spreading across my face.