Jennie
After a week of being sick off and on, Lisa forces me to go to the doctor. Other than throwing up a few times, I feel fine. I know she's making a big fuss over nothing. But regardless, I haven't been to my doctor for anything other than my yearly pap test since Gabi was born. He's a general practitioner so he is Gabi's doctor as well. With all the time I've spent in that office with my son and his check-ups, colds, shots, fevers, diaper rashes, and everything else under the sun, there is no need for me to go in there if it isn't absolutely necessary. I'm the type of person who doesn't go to the doctor unless I'm bleeding from the eyes or monkeys are flying out of my ass. I figure my heath and well being will be perfectly fine through osmosis just by walking into that place every couple of months with my son.
When I call my doctor and tell him my girlfriend is being mean and making me get a physical, his exact words are, "Jennie, you know there's more to you than your vagina. I've scheduled you for tomorrow."
Whatever. What if my vagina is the best part? What do you have to say about that, Doctor Dick?
Actually, I really do love our doctor. I have never seen him wearing anything other than jeans and a t-shirt. He's very down-to-earth and Gabi loves him. Plus, if I'm going to let a guy stick his hands up my snatch once a year, he better make me feel comfortable if he isn't buying me dinner first.
I'm currently sitting on the exam table in a lovely ensemble of a paper shirt that opens in the front and a paper blanket the size of a newspaper that is supposed to fit around my ass. The room is a balmy fifty-two degrees, and I have been waiting forty-five minutes so far. Needless to say, I'm in a super mood by the time Dr. Williams finally shows up.
"Jennie, how are you doing today?" he asks as he walks into the room with a nurse following close behind.
"Oh, I'm just super. Did you do something new with these gowns? They seem to have much more coverage," I say sarcastically.
"Ah, Jennie, you always say the nicest things," he laughs as he takes a seat on his little stool with wheels and looks over my chart.
The nurse comes up next to me and takes my blood pressure and checks my pulse, reporting the numbers to Dr. Williams so he can notate them.
"Well, your BP is good and you don't have a fever. When was your last menstrual cycle?"
I count backward through the weeks in my head and then stop and count again.
"Well, it was…I remember it was a Tuesday because that's the day my supplies are delivered, and I was in the middle of signing for the white chocolate when I felt cramps," I ramble, trying not to panic.
One, two, three, four, carry the seven, multiply by eight…FUCK!
I glance over at the calendar hanging on the wall. This month shows a black and white cat with wide eyes and both of its paws covering its mouth as if to say 'Oops!'.
Fuck you, you stupid cat! I can't count with you staring at me like that. And if cats really could say "Oops" they'd do it when they shit on the SIDE of the litter box instead of in it.
I stare at the squares and the numbers on the calendar until they all start to blur together, either from eye strain or tears, I'm not sure which.
"First, how about we just have you scoot down to the end of the table and we'll check you out. You're due for your yearly exam next month anyway so we might as well get that taken care of," Dr. Williams says as he slides his chair closer to me while the nurse pulls out the extension at the end of the table and adjusts the stirrups for my feet.
I lie back and put my legs up in the air while the nurse slides a table over with the pap test kit already set up on top.
Right now, I wouldn't mind a little Sehun humor to take my mind off of things. Something to the effect of, "How's that cunt scrape coming along?"
I squeeze my eyes shut while the doctor goes to work, sticking his hands where only one person has gone before.
"So, have you been watching the new Bachelorette? That chick is a train wreck!" Dr. Williams says with a laugh.
"Um…"
"Did you see when she got all trailer park on that one guy? Wagging her finger and shaking her head? You can take the girl out of the trailer park…" Dr. Williams trails off with another laugh as I hear the metal clink of the speculum.
"My daughter likes to watch that stupid show just to see the pretty dresses she's going to wear," he tells me as he continues working between my legs.
No really, it's perfectly fine to talk about reality television and YOUR KID while your fingers are all up in my business. How does this work when he's at home? Is it the exact opposite when he's sitting around the dinner table? "So did I tell you about this woman today? Her cooch hadn't been shaved in days. What a trainwreck! Can you pass the potatoes? I only treat her because she's got a pretty uterus. How did you do on your spelling test, Cindy Lou?
Dr. Williams finishes digging to China, slides back and slips off his rubber gloves while he stands.
The nurse takes my arm and helps me sit up. I try to situate the paper shirt and skirt thing to cover myself back up but it seems like the fucking thing shrunk. I give up and just keep my legs as tightly together as I can. It doesn't seem appropriate to flash the goods to the doctor now that the exam was over. It would be like walking up to your dentist in the grocery store and showing him your teeth. There is a time and a place for everything.
"So? Is everything okay? What's next?" I ask, hoping since he hasn't said much during the exam, aside from television gossip, that all is good and I'm worrying for nothing.
"Well, we'll order up some blood work, and I'll see you back here in four weeks," he said with a smile as he wrote something else on my chart. "Congratulations, you're pregnant!"
--
Did you know The Dollar Store sells pregnancy tests? It's true. And even though all these stupid dollar stores should change their names to "The Dollar Store – Everything Isn't Really a Dollar, We Just Like to Fuck With You", pregnancy tests are in fact one of the few things there that actually only cost one dollar. Which begs me to ask the question why the hell did I get a dirty look from the cashier when I asked for all thirty-seven tests? Like that's never happened before? They are pregnancy tests for ONE DOLLAR, people. Gabi gets one dollar for doing chores around the house every once in a while. Even HE can afford to buy a pregnancy test. Why a four-and-a-half-year-old would need to buy a pregnancy test is beyond me, but these are the facts.
Arguing with the cashier and telling her I hope she slams her ginormous tits into the drawer of the cash register probably isn't my finest moment, but it keeps my mind off of the fact that I might be pregnant.
Yes, I said might. I have just finished peeing on the twenty-third test and Dr. Williams had told me I was pregnant when he fondled my uterus, but he could have been wrong. Doctors get things wrong all the time. They remove a kidney when they mean to remove a gallbladder, and they forget to take clamps and shit out of someone before they sew them up. He could definitely be wrong about my uterus. How many uteri does he stroke on a daily basis? Maybe he's just off his game. Maybe he hadn't even been touching my uterus but had his hand around my spleen. But that would probably mean he was up to his elbows in my vagina. It had been uncomfortable, but not elbows-deep uncomfortable.
I stand at the sink in the bathroom and stare at the pregnancy test in my hand, waiting for the five minutes to be up so I can gouge out my eyes when I see another positive result. When the timer on my cell phone beeps with the new tone ("SWEET MOTHER FUCKING JESUS IT'S TIME!") I downloaded just for this purpose, I glance down and try not to cry.
An hour later, Lisa and Gabi come home from the store and find me curled up in the fetal position on the floor of the bathroom, surrounded by used pregnancy tests, instructions, and ripped open boxes.
"Mommy, where did you get all these magic wands?!" Gabi asks excitedly as he runs into the bathroom.
He picks up one of the tests and pretends like he's Harry Potter, aiming the test at random objects around the small bathroom yelling, "I curse you with my magic wand, punk toilet paper!"
I don't even lift my head from the cold tiles; they feel too good on my tear-stained cheeks to move. I watch him with my eyes and wonder briefly if I'm a bad mother for letting him play with something that I peed on. That just starts another crying jag when I realize I will be a bad mother to two kids now. I have a vision of the future where both of my children are sitting in a tub of pee while I'm comatose on the floor.
Lisa walks to the doorway and takes one look at me and the litter on the floor and jumps into action.
"Hey, Gabi, how about you put down that wand and go get the bubbles we just bought. I'll even let you blow them in your room."
"Sweet! This wand smells funny anyway, and it's making my hand wet," Gabi states as he drops it on the floor and runs from the room.
"You should probably tell him to wash his hands," I mumble from the floor.
"Eh, he's going to be playing with bubbles, which are like soap, so it will all even out," Lisa replies as she steps into the room and sits down on the floor next to me.
I sit up, pushing tests and boxes out of my way so I can cross my legs and sit Indian style across from her with our knees touching.
"So, how was your day?" Lisa asks gently as she reaches over and brushes my hair out of my eyes.
I sniffle and look around at the mess.
"Oh you know, the usual. I worked, ran some errands, some guy put his hands up my chimichanga, complimented my uterus, and I got into a fight with a clerk at The Dollar Store."
"Was it because practically nothing in that store is a dollar?" she asks.
"Oh my God, right? What the fuck is up with that? I don't go into a store called The Dollar Store to buy a five dollar toy. Someone needs to school these people on proper advertising," I complain.
A few seconds of silence lapse, and I knew Lisa was waiting for me to mention the huge "I'm pregnant" elephant in the room. Fuck that elephant! she can just sit there in the corner eating peanuts and shitting on the tile while giving me looks of disgust.
You're the one shitting on the floor, elephant, don't give me that look.
Lisa spreads her legs out on either side of me, reaches over and grabs onto both of my ankles, unwinds my legs, and pulls me across the floor to her. She re-hooks my ankles together behind her back and puts her hands on either side of my face, forcing me to look her in the eyes.
"Say it," she whispers. "I missed out on this the first time. I want to hear you say it."
My throat is so tight I'm positive I won't even be able to take another breath, and she wants me to talk?
"Please?" she pleads softly.
She smiles at me and I can see her eyes start to fill with tears. I want to tell her so many things, but I'm too overcome with emotion and frankly, a little bit of puke. Two words are about all I can muster.
"I'm pregnant," I whisper back with a sniffle.
"You're pregnant?" she asks with a huge smile.
Um, duh? What the fuck do you THINK all this is about? Oh my God, what is wrong with me? I'm sorry! I love you!
"Are you not happy about being pregnant?" she asks, showing the first sign of worry since she stepped into the room.
"I figured YOU wouldn't be happy. You're totally screwed now. If you decide you don't like me, I've got you for eighteen years. I'm your baby mama times two. That's triflin', yo."
Lisa laughs and wrapped her arms around my waist so she could pull me up against her.
"Stop trying to quote Kanye. You're not a golddigger, and there's no question whose kids they are," she tells me as she cups my cheek with one hand and rubs it softly with her thumb.
"That's what you think. Sperm from the floor of the sex toy shop might have jumped off of the carpet and up into my vagina. No telling who this one belongs to."
She stares at me for a few minutes before kissing the tip of my nose.
"I know you're freaking out. It's okay. Just talk to me. Whatever you're feeling, I want to know. And I am perfectly fine with this. In fact, I am EXTATIC with this. There is absolutely nothing that could ruin my good mood about this news," she affirms.
There cannot be a more perfect person in the world than her. Fact.
"Really? Because I'm pretty sure we conceived this child the night I ate that pot cookie. I'm eighty-four percent positive our child is going to be born a pot head. It's going to come out with dreadlocks and wearing a Bob Marley onesie. Its first word will probably be, 'Whaaaaaazzzzzzzzuuuuup'. It's never, ever going to sleep through the night because it's always going to have the munchies."
Lisa chuckles and tightens her hold on me. I wrapped my arms around her neck and rest my chin on her shoulder.
"If that's the case, we'll just have to make sure we have plenty of Cheetos on hand at all times and some Grateful Dead music to play in the nursery," she states.
I sigh and turn my head so I can rest my cheek on her shoulder and burrow into the side of her neck.
"It's going to be fine. I promise you. I love you and I'm not going anywhere. This is the best news you could have ever given me. Nothing could make me happier right now."
Gabi suddenly comes bursting through the doorway.
"Dada, woke up dis morning, got myself a gun' is on!" he says excitedly. "And my wiener feels funny again. It won't stop being tall."
"Oh my God. I take that back. THIS is the happiest moment of my life. My son just got a boner for Sopranos," Lisa whispers.
"Like Dada like son," I deadpan.
Lisa pulls me up from the floor of the bathroom and tells me to leave the mess and that she'd clean it up later. She tells me I'm not allowed to do anything else for the rest of the day but lie on the couch and let her wait on me. She always knows exactly what to say to make me feel better, and she takes such good care of me. I'm an idiot for being disappointed that she doesn't immediately ask me to marry her. She loves me and she's happy we're going to have a baby. I can't help but wonder though why she hadn't asked. She obviously isn't in shock like I am so there has to be another reason. As I curl up on the couch with my head on Lisa's lap, I try to ignore the pain in my heart at the thought that maybe she doesn't think I was marriage material.