BONES

I'm showing.

As soon as the front door shut behind Booth, I was back in the bathroom studying myself in the mirror.

I feel a bit foolish, to be honest. I should have been first to notice the change, not Booth. It's my body, after all, and I can't quite figure out how I missed it. I find the fact that I did a bit insulting to my intelligence. But there's nothing I can do about either of those things, so I shrug it off and move on.

Now that Booth has pointed it out, I can see it. I turn sideways, observe my profile. The slight rounding of my abdomen, the thickening of my waist. I lay my hand on that curve and close my eyes. Our baby. It is still a heady thought.

Booth is going to be a wonderful father. I have not only the six years of watching him with Parker to base this on, but also my experience thus far in my gestation. He is completely invested in this pregnancy, fascinated as my body changes and wanting to know how the fetus is growing and faring. Even now, out there picking up my ice cream. I'll have to rein him in eventually, I'm sure, but not quite yet.

It's not Booth I worry about when it comes to parenting, it's me. If I don't even recognize when I'm showing, how does that bode for my parenting skills? What if I don't recognize when the infant needs something after it is born? What if I can't bond with it? What if this is just something else, like being part of a family, that I'm not mean to have?

It had seemed so easy two years ago when I decided I wanted to have a child, although for all the wrong reasons…


"I just realized it. I should have a progeny. It's selfish of me not to."


It had been as simple as that to me: Identify a paternal candidate, get some sperm, have myself inseminated, gestate, give birth, hire a nanny. As Booth would say, 'Bing, bang, boo, Mama Bones.' It had seemed uncomplicated at the time and I had questioned my ability to parent or love my child… then.

Now, with each step in this pregnancy, I am beginning to realize there is nothing simple about it. I had forgotten, then, that if I were to… source… my sperm locally then the paternal contributor may wish to actually be the father. Frankly, at the time, it had never occurred to me. I thought I was doing Booth a favor by relinquishing him from any responsibilities. Had I given more thought than a game of 'you say, I say' in Sweets' office to having a child, I may have recognized that. Booth has always bene a good father… a great father… jumping through whatever hula-hoops Rebecca demanded of him just so he could spend time with and be a father to Parker. How could I not have realized…


"I can't do it. Listen, I have to be involved. If I'm the father, then I have to be a father."


Booth would not be capable of walking away from his child. I know that. I knew that. So why had it not occurred to me then? It had all seemed so… simple.

I turn the opposite way to view my profile again.

As for me? I'm finding out there is nothing simple about gestation. Every change in my body reminds me I'm about to become a mother and I still have a slew of decisions to make, even with help. Breast feeding is a given, as our organic wipes. What about diapers? Organic disposable or truly organic cotton diapers…

Although I can't see Booth, with his fear of fecal matter, willingly – or unwillingly – scrubbing diapers after the infant has had a bowel movement.

There are cribs and cradles and portacribs to choose; high chairs, feeding seats and car seats to select; Strollers, bounce seats and playmats to pick out. There is bedding, towels, receiving blankets, wash rags and baby baths to decide between. What is the best breast pump, as I imagine Booth will want his turn to feed the infant? What about bottles and nipples? What nursing bra is most comfortable? Will we dress the baby primarily in the onesits Angela is always talking about? Or will we opt to dress our child like Hodgins and Angela do Michael Vincent when they go out: In adorable outfits I imagine a child would only let you get away with for so long.

Speaking of clothing, since I have begun to show, maternity clothes will have to be shopped for – I raise my brows at my image – sooner than later, it would appear and I've needed new bras for more than a month now, mine uncomfortably snug. Maybe I can squeeze in a little crib shopping while I'm at it.

The thought has me dropping the hem of my shirt, getting back in bed and opening my laptop. If I'm dedicated, between tonight, tomorrow night and Saturday I should be able to research all the best cribs on the market, then locate where a model can be found. I bring up the browser and type in…

Best infant crib on the market

My shoulders sag. Maybe I was being optimistic about a couple of evenings spent researching, I ponder, when the search brings back ten-million-one-hundred-thousand results. So maybe I should back into this thing. What are the best materials for cribs? What safety features should I be looking for on a crib?

Should Booth and I have the same cribs at our apartments. If so, then I'll need to take into consideration cost, too.

Returning to the search bar, I clear the results and try again.

Most important safety features in a crib

Well, that's a little better, only three-million, seven-hundred-fifty-thousand results for that search. Still…

Optimistic.

By the time I hear the front door open and close, I have a pad and pen resting on the bed and I'm taking notes.

Firm, tight fitting mattress.

No cutouts in headboard or footboard.

Slats less than 2 3/8 inches apart.

Corner posts no higher than 1/16 inch

I'll need to remember to put a tape measure in my bag when I go shopping. I scribble that down for good measure.

My list off to the side of the page has continued to grow.

Changing table
Portable changing pad
Burp clothes
Mattress cover
Mobile
Bookshelf
Chair or sofa for nursing
Crib sheets
Nursery draperies

I breathed out a long sigh. Like I said, it's not as simple as gestating and giving birth.

That's before you even involve love.

"Something wrong, Bones?" Booth asks, as he walks into the room, having heard my sigh.

"Just researching cribs. Did you know we'll need a changing table, along with the crib and somewhere to nurse the baby?" He glances at me, then turns his attention to stripping off his sweatpants.

My hormones rage. He wasn't wrong, earlier. I'm insatiable.

"Yeah and enough other stuff to fill a department store. I spent the better part of Parker's first year falling over walkers, bouncers, jumpers and car seats, not to mention the car seat bases, because I couldn't even walk in my apartment he had to have so much stuff." Which reminded me of a question I'd asked myself not long ago.

"Do you think we should have the same crib here and at your place?" He tossed his pants on the chair.

"Well, yeah, it makes sense, don't you think? That way whichever place we're at he'll be familiar with his bed. I'd say the same goes for car seats, high chairs and swings, too." My attention rivets on the mention of swings.

"An infant is too young to use a swing, Booth." Really, he should know this stuff. I know next to nothing about kids, but even I know this. He chuckles.

"A baby swing, Bones. I wouldn't have been able to even get in a quick nap if not for Parker's swing. It was a Godsend. Look it up, while I get your ice cream and broccoli." I know immediate disappointment.

"No hummus?"

"I wouldn't have forgotten the hummus, now would I?" He walks over to me and brushes his lips against mine. "I'll be right back."

I take his advice and type 'baby swing' into my search bar. I am positively weary by the time Booth returns with my food. It turns out baby swings can swing side-to-side or back-and-forth; they can be automated or manual; some come with a mobile of some fashion, some don't; some lay down flat, others recline; some play music, others vibrate, while still more play music and vibrate. How can anyone expect a person to get through the sheer amount of research it will take to outfit the infant and nursery with what is safest and best for it… in only a few months time.

I toss aside my pad and pen as he walks back into the room and sets a breakfast tray, complete with rose, over my lap.

"Awwww, thank you," I tell him, picking up the rose and taking a long sniff. Lovely. "You're a romantic man."

"Somebody has to be the romantic one in this relationship," he jests, getting into bed on the other side of me. Propping his back against some pillows, he reaches for my pad and skims it. "You're going about this crib thing all wrong, Bones."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you go to a bunch of stores, find the cribs you like, then you research them. It saves you a ton of time by cutting out running all over DC and the tri-state area tracking down one crib at a time. I mean, remember the rug." For a man as direct as he, he has a habit of going off on tangents quite often.

"The rug?" I pour a generous helping of ketchup over my broccoli and take a bite.

"Yeah, the rug. How many weekends did we spend searching shops all over the tri-state area for this rug you had pictured in your head and that met your exacting standards? Trying to find that rug was like trying to find a teeny tiny piece of stray yarn in a haystack of yarn. But once you researched it, what did you find?" The broccoli is okay, but there's something missing. I eye the ice cream and hummus. With the slightest lift and drop of the shoulder, I cut off a piece of the broccoli and dip it, ketchup and all, into the hummus. Mmmmmm.

"It's only sold in two stores in the United States: One in San Francisco and one in Philadelphia."

"So we went to Philadelphia." He grins at me. "That was a great weekend."

"It was." I'd surprised him with tickets to a double hitter or the Phillies vs the Braves… a thank you for all the effort and time he'd put in. "But by your logic, I am doing it the right way: Researching it, then finding." I resist the urge to close my eyes and hum. The mint chocolate chip ice cream was exactly what I'd wanted.

"No, this time the string of yarn is trying to shop on the internet, where they throw a million choices at you and then you find out your selection is not even being made any more or is only sold is Juno, Alaska. We take the weekend. Hit a dozen stores or so. This way you can get a first-hand idea of the lines you like, wood tones, degree of gloss, and conveniences you want in a crib. Do you want the changing table to match the crib? That's going to reduce your options even further. You end up with a manageable list to be researched and the bonus is, when you decide which one to buy, you know exactly where it is." I have found my mind tends to glitch, get stuck on one thing, lately. It's fleeting, but that it is happening at all is disturbing. Right now, I'm stuck on the 'we'.

"You want to go crib shopping with me?" He looks at me as though I've lost my senses.

"Well, yeah. Of course." He frowns, as though thinking of something unpleasant. "Do you not want me to go?"

"What?! No. Yes, of course, I do if that's what you want. I just don't want you to feel obligated, just because I'm carrying your progeny." I don't know why the question made me nervous, but it did. I stumble. "I mean, you should do what you want to do." I scrunch my nose. That was even worse. "I mean, I know your sports things are on and—"

"So, I'll check out Sportscenter when we get home," he shrugs. When he sees this answer is not sufficient, he sits up and swinging his legs around, faces me. "I did all this by myself with Parker, not by my choice. To pick out what our child will be sleeping or riding in or wearing? It not only makes me feel included but makes it all a little more real." I don't pursue it further.

"Booth, where are we going to put the baby at your place? I have an extra bedroom here, but you have Parker—"

"Parker's only with me every other weekend. Him and the baby can share the room then when Parker's there, we can move the baby's crib into our room, at least for now."

"I don't know how fair that is to Parker," I worry. "He's at an age where he needs his privacy."

"Then I'll find a new place with three bedrooms," he dismissed my concern easily, staring at my fork as I stab another piece of ketchup-covered broccoli and dip it in the hummus. He seems fascinated to watch me eat for some reason.

"A new place? But you love your place."

"Not because of the walls, Bones. Because of who and what's inside the walls, and that would all go with me." I switch to my spoon for another sampling of the mint chocolate chip ice cream. Booth is such a creature of habit, this surprises me. Me? I could walk away from my apartment and not look back. It is and always has been a space that met my needs but little more. I have no attachment to it. But Booth? He is routine, history, sentimentalism. Yet, just like that he's ready to give it up if that's what's best for Parker and our child. He's a remarkable man. "Enjoying your food Bones?"

"Mmmm-hmmm," I hum and nod, then speak around the food in my mouth, "It's perfect. Thanks for getting it."

"Anytime. I mean that." My eyes narrow. That's the voice he uses when he is saying one thing, but means another. But what? I could ask, but he wouldn't tell me….