We're seven months today and I can't believe it.

"Everything looks great, Beverly. The stent is holding up nicely. I'm happy with your blood pressure – whatever you're doing is certainly keeping your numbers low. It's good news for you and the baby, as you know." Dr. Portland looks satisfied with himself as he looks over the ultrasound.

"Beverly, I know you don't want to know the gender, but you're going to be able to figure it out by looking at the ultrasound. Do you two still want to see the baby?" And he's right. Unlike in the 21st and 22nd century where ultra sounds where images were picked up by simple Doppler which revealed a blurry image, modern ultrasound is crisp and clear and reveals almost the exact features.

"We want to wait" a soft baritone asserts.

"Alright, well everything looks great! See you two in another three weeks!"

/

"Jean Luc is something going on?" I have a nagging feeling that he's up to something again.

"No. No. Nothing at all." He brushes me off casually.

"So, we're just having dinner with Hope and Gregg – you're not planning anything right?" I have this sinking feeling in my stomach that he's lying to me.

"Beverly, when have you ever known me to be subversive?"

"Jean Luc, if you're telling the truth then why is Hope's house dark?"

"Maybe we're eating outside."

"It's January!"

He says nothing as he ushers me into Hope's home. He's trying to hard not to smile and just before I ask him –

"SURPRISE!"

I nearly have a heart attack as the foyer lights spring to life and I see what must be fifty people and even more gifts all crammed into Hope's home. I hate surprises, but I'm touched that so many of my hospital colleagues, patients, and friends have thrown me such a lovely baby shower. They've provided almost everything from strollers, hand embroidered baby blankets, toys and stuffed bears, to gender-neutral onesies and mobiles.

/

"Shhhh… Jean Luc. Come back. Just one more time! Please!" It's still dark outside and I'm loath to let him go.

"Beverly Picard! You are absolutely insatiable! I can't I have to get to work!"

I grab his hand before he leaves the bed and I pull him back, "just one more time. Please! Be quick about it."

I don't have to beg anymore as his lips open mine. A second later he concedes with a grin, "dammit, Beverly, you know I can't say no to my very pregnant wife."

/

"OW!" Is the one lingering thought that hits my mind as I'm woken from a semi sound sleep. Sleep never comes easily to me these days. Junior has an odd sleep schedule. When he's up, he's pressing my bladder or moving around like he's playing a round of Velocity.

It's my ninth month and my due date is 3 weeks away. I'm familiar with false alarms. This week, I've had four. It's a 30-minute drive to the hospital and I don't want to wake my Jean Luc if I'm not 100% certain that the baby's coming. I keep a medical tricorder near my bed. I've programmed a labour and delivery setting which tells me exactly if I'm indeed having Braxton Hicks contractions, or if it's just normal cramping.

I look over at the chronometer. It's 0300 hours. As I said, I've been woken up by Junior before, but this time it feels different. I disentangle myself from Jean Luc's warm embrace and I reach for my tricorder. The pain comes again and I can't help but think that these are contractions.

They are. It can't be.

"Jean Luc!" I forget; the man sleeps like a rock.

"Jean Luc!" I shove his chest. Goddammit Jean Luc! Wake up!

One last time and with a more forceful poke, "JEAN LUC PICARD!"

"Wha.. what? Beverly what's wrong?"

"You're losing your touch old man." On the Enterprise, he could be up and alert within 50 seconds. Now, it takes exceptional effort to rouse him out of a sound sleep.

"Hey! Hey!" a groggy baritone interjects, "not that old."

"Jean Luc we have to get to the hospital."

There's a small silence as he registers what's going on. "Hospital?"

"Yes, hospital."

We've packed a bag and gone through exactly what we'll do when the baby comes. We haven't had to implement it yet though. I'm expecting flustered madness as we make the mad dash to the car.

"Right." He jumps out of bed. "I've got the bag let's go!"

"Jean Luc!" I'm laughing at him.

"What is it Beverly? We've got to go!" He's exasperated, wondering why I'm not as eager to get going as he is.

"Put your trousers and a shirt on."

He looks down at himself.

"Right."