When the blue plus sign appeared on the pregnancy test, he said to me: “Let’s be a family.” Two weeks earlier, on my twentieth birthday, he said I could order anything I wanted at our favorite sit-down Mexican restaurant, Mas Por Favor. Halfway through my shrimp fajitas, the odor of them hit, and I spent the rest of my birthday dinner in the bathroom. He didn't suggest the pregnancy test, that was my mom. But when it was positive, his fiercely blue eyes sparkled. “I want a son,” he said.
We were married three months later, beside San Diego Bay. I half expected the clouds to stay as an incessant, cool wind blew over the water, but they parted to reveal a biting sun. My sleeveless dress, which smelled of cigarettes, was made by his mother. He wore a baggy, rented tuxedo and his smile could have broken waves if it were any wider. Although the handful of people in attendance already knew I was pregnant, my extended belly really sealed the sensation of a shotgun wedding. My dad had said I shouldn't throw my life away, but I was determined to follow my own path—a path of love.
Twenty miles away, in the church I was baptized in, he danced eagerly throughout our reception. Our sweetheart table was framed with a huge white, black and blue balloon arch. I had morning sickness continually since my birthday dinner. I ate very little of our buffet-style dinner served in aluminum trays by old women I barely knew, who were just happy to be invited. It was my mom, dad, and brother with a couple of layover friends from high school filled a long table to the right. His mom, dad, sister, and brother with a friend I had never met sat to the left. In front of everyone I had ever known in my short life, he sang me some of his favorite song by Alice in Chains. “I give this part of me for you,” he sang with overwhelming feeling. I’d never even heard the song, but I smiled at his brief serenade, the first time anyone had sang to me.
As the sun set orange through the huge floor to ceiling windows of the old hall, we cut a cake that my dad had bought. I was never a fan of cake, so I gave my dad leave to buy anything he wanted. There was a plastic man and wife on top of two tiers of white, frilly buttercream and a black, piped “Congratulations.” He picked out a slice, and offered it to me. I tenuously moved for a bite, and he pressed the back of my head into the plate, covering my face. Everyone laughed, and a few cheered. It was a funny moment, I think. I'm not really sure, I never liked cake. We danced as nighttime fell and the older folks left. We were the only ones left: Mr. and Mrs. Nieludski.
My husband worked late hours as a bartender, and I had always been a bit of a night owl. It came as no surprise that the first time I felt the baby kick, it was after midnight. The fluttering movement was strange, yet familiar; so much like a gas bubble moving through my stomach with a mind of its own. Every night, the baby would writhe within me as I laid awake in bed. Only after my husband came home and said goodnight to the little one would I finally get rest. As soon as I woke, morning sickness hurtled me to the bathroom. A toothbrush waited at the side of the sink for me, and I noted for the first time how the strangest things become normal. Throwing up intermittently until noon every day for six months became my new, unpleasant normal.
Every night, I cradled my growing belly as I stared out my eastern-facing window, watching the moon creep lazily across the sky. I was alone in a room that my husband and I had shared in my dad's house. Propped up with far too many old pillows, dipping in and out of sleep I watched the night. I felt a sharp pain in my hip, and grumbled at the baby. Another shooting ache twisted within me, this time in my back. I looked at the clock and was momentarily relieved that it was almost time for my husband to come home. The exhaustion within me was overjoyed that the baby would soon calm down – then another jolt in my hip. Was there something wrong with my baby? Why did it hurt so bad? Then, I heard Mr. Nieludski close the front door. He was never quiet, even though it was 2:47 am and my dad slept in the room closest to the door. In the darkness, I heard his footsteps. Another pain. His footfalls sounded strange, different. The baby shimmered across my taut belly. If I hadn't known better, his familiar step now sounded slowed, dragging, like a zombie. Surely, it was my imagination crying out for rest. Scraping across the hardwood floor, toward my door, he moved and my panic grew. The baby did somersaults inside of me. The doorknob turned, and his face was dark except for the smile that cut through the night. I closed my eyes, and the baby jabbed into my rib. A small scream escaped, and I was terrified that he had heard it. "You okay, babe?" He said; I looked at him, and the fear ebbed. The baby rested.
A few days later, I was sitting awkwardly on an examination table in a fabric gown that tied in the back. Most of my prenatal visits I did alone and was often reminded that for the back ties of the examination gown to be closed, you needed company. My back was completely exposed to the frigidity of the exam room, to my embarrassment. We had decided to wait until birth to find out the baby’s sex. He wanted to name our child after his grandfather, Theodore, and I wanted to name it after my childhood best friend, Elizabeth. We had taken to calling it "Teddy Bear", since we didn't know which name it would carry.
“Did you know you can diet when you're pregnant?” The male obstetrician said.
“Well, no,” I shifted.
“As long as you stay within appropriate limits and eat a range of foods, you can still lose weight.”
“To be honest, I haven’t been able to eat much since I got pregnant. Teddy Bear only seems to agree with French fries," I laughed.
“I would really prefer you to try and stay healthy for the sake of your baby. Are you sleeping well?”
“Teddy Bear tends to be really active at night, so I do have trouble some-”
“If you eat healthier, you might sleep better, too,” he interrupted, eyes fixed to a computer screen. “Do you exercise at all?”
“Um, a little,” I whispered, a little ashamed at remembering the many hours I spent watching daytime TV or playing video games.
“Okay, I want you to walk for at least twenty minutes every day and cut down on the fats.” He got up, moving quickly to the door.
“Uh… Is the baby okay?” I blinked.
“Yeah, she sounds very healthy,” he said, leaving the room. She, I repeated in my mind.
I decided not to tell my husband of the doctor's slip. I still called her Teddy Bear because I knew he had wanted a son and I didn't want to cause him stress. At seven months, I finally got a welcome break from the morning sickness. Although, I kept my toothbrush at the side of the sink, just in case. The thrill of this brief reprieve was quickly hampered by dizzy spells and extreme fatigue. I remembered what the doctor had said about exercise, but whenever I tried, I would lose steam too quickly. My husband said that I had to push myself, and I tried, but when he left for the day, I would plop down in front of the TV.
Lounging across an orange velour couch, with reruns of America's Funniest Home Videos laughing in the background, I napped. At first, it was a short nap right after my husband left. Then, it started happening before he left, as well. My husband would spread that toothy grin and say: "Who's the sleepyhead today?" or "Getting a few more than forty winks, huh?" As the weeks rolled forward, the naps grew longer and he grew impatient with my resting. He assigned me chores that would keep me awake, and told me: “a little coffee won’t hurt Teddy Bear.” At nights, I couldn't keep my eyes open, but Teddy Bear pressed on every organ and tested the boundaries of my womb. The pain seemed strangely far off as I drifted in and out of sleep. My husband came home, and in my half-conscious state, it felt like it took him an eternity to get from the front door into bed beside me. I heard the scraping drag as he approached every night, and my nightmares of a monster drawing toward my door plagued me. The monster had my husband’s eyes, a baby’s body, and huge teeth, dripping blood. But when I shook off the dream, it was just Mr. Nieludski climbing into bed.
“Why are you never awake when I get home anymore? You know that it means a lot to me.” He spoke.
“I'm sorry, honey, just the baby is taking a lot out of me,” I responded.
In the darkness, I could see his eyes narrowed into blades of silver-blue. He said: “It's not Teddy's fault that you're lazy,” and my mind froze. Sure, he had said things before that could, by some, been seen as horrible if you didn't understand his sense of humor. He always laughed when he said them, so I knew he didn't mean it. This time, however, he did not laugh. I waited for it, but it didn't come. He put his hand on my stomach and I flinched. “Are you serious right now?” he said. He slammed the bedroom door, then the front door, and I tried to wait for him until I was dragged down, into sleep.
He returned that morning with a single red rose and the smile that I had fallen in love with. He said: “I'm sorry that I've been a little rude lately. It's work, you know.” I said I understood, and I tried to. After that, I took care not to fall asleep when he was home, even though I was exhausted. I set alarms for just before he came home, and even pressed myself to sleep lightly. Every night, Teddy Bear would do her backflips and I would lay in unnatural forms to try to ignore them until he came home. The second he left, I would pass out until after midnight, when the internal dance began again. Another strange, new normal.
My pregnancy was tracked at 32 weeks when my morning sickness came back with a vengeance. I was dizzy, exhausted, and throwing up every few hours throughout the day. After then sun went down, and my husband was on his way to work, I tried to sleep. Nightmares were printed on the backs of my eyelids, just waiting for me like a paused movie. In the nightmares, I was being chased by a wolf, a bear, or the like. Ripping claws, mouths full of razors, always towering over me, always faster than me. In all situations, I had lost my daughter, and was trying to find her as I ran. Then I woke up, ran to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and returned to bed to stare out the window until he came back.
Teddy Bear kicked, turned, twisted, pinched, and tortured me from the inside. I didn't cry. It became normal. I would hear my husband's footsteps from the door to the bathroom, from the bathroom to our room, from the bedroom door to the bed. I didn't look to see if it was him or a nightmare monster having escaped my dreams. I didn't want to see the teeth or ravenous eyes. He would just climb into bed and say “thanks for staying up for me”, and I would rest assured that I was safe. Teddy Bear stilled as the snores began beside me. Then, all would go dark.
In my 34th week, I went to the bathroom to throw up in the morning, as per usual, but it didn’t come. My husband was still asleep as I sat on the floor, waiting. My ass started to go numb from the cold tiles, then I got up. It was weird not to feel bad. I ate breakfast and felt fine. I stayed awake all day, helped my husband get ready for work, and nothing happened. I didn't even take my evening nightmare-filled nap after he left. I just sat in peace as I watched the sunset. I daydreamed of holding my baby in my arms as she slept the day away, singing to her while she smiled a big, toothless grin, and kissing her soft head, knowing she was safe with me. A tranquility I hadn’t known in a very long time settled into me just as the sun faded into the ocean, far from my sight. As the first stars blinked into view, my water broke.
My dad drove me to the hospital while I screamed and writhed in the passenger seat. He mumbled something about ambulances being too expensive and how I would be fine. He told me to relax and take deep breaths, but the searing pain in my pelvis had no intention of fulfilling his demands. The nurses met me at the door, and rushed me into a room. Within minutes, I was hooked up to monitors with an IV extending from my vein. They calmed me with what they called a "safe pain relief option," and I finally calmed. My husband arrived just as all was quiet.
“My son’s coming!” He announced, proudly.
“Not yet,” said a nurse. He glowered at her.
“What do you mean?” He snorted.
“Well, your wife's water broke too early. The baby may not be safe, so we need to keep her under surveillance for as long as we can without delivering the baby.”
“If that's the case, I need to get back to work,” he said. He smiled at her, but it was the smile I had seen in my nightmares: full of malice, without a ripple of understanding or kindness. I wondered how many times he had smiled at me like that, but I had mistaken it for love. After he left, the nurses told me to rest, and for the first time in months, I did.
I woke to the morning sun blazing through the hospital window. I was alone. A male nurse swept in and said: “Your husband came by this morning, but decided to go home to sleep.”
“How's my baby?" I yawned.
“I'll have to get the doctor for you,” he said, pushing a button on a monitor. “He will be in at about nine.”
“But she's okay?” I pressed. He pushed a different button, and a loud, fast whooshing.
“That's the baby's heartbeat,” he smiled. I listened for a moment before he turned it back off. “We're monitoring it at the nurses' station at the end of the hall, so don’t worry.” He left without another word.
My obstetrician came by, explaining what I had heard last night, that the baby needed to stay in for as long as possible to grow. He left before I could ask questions. My husband came, and asked me what the doctor said, and I repeated what he already knew.
“So, we're supposed to just sit here and wait?” He paced.
“We want Teddy Bear to be safe, right?” I said.
“I can't take too much time off work or they'll fire me.”
“Don't worry, you can go to work. If anything changes, I'll call you.”
“It might take some time for me to get back here, so don't be all pissed off if I’m late.”
“It's fine, I understand,” I said softly.
“And at least I know what you're up to,” he grumbled.
“What does that mean?”
“Well, I'm gone six nights a week, and when I've come home every night the last month or so, I see you wide awake like you had just gotten home.” His voice towered over me.
“I'm eight and a half months pregnant, where would I go?” I hated that I said that even while it was coming out of my mouth. He froze at the foot of my bed, and his eyes thinned. His lips parted slightly, and I could see sharp teeth beneath them. I gasped, and he turned his face away, swiftly covering his mouth. “I just meant that I've been at home, resting, taking care of Teddy Bear.”
“Fine,” he said, then turned back toward me, lips tight.
“Oh, she's gonna be so beautiful, you know,” I said, smiling, trying to break the tension. Instead, he looked more severe than ever, and lunged at the bed. Reflexively, I covered my head and said: “Stop! What did I do?”
“You knew it was a girl?” He growled. I couldn't see the dripping fangs that I knew were inches from my ear. A panicked cry leapt out of me.
“Is everything okay?” A lady's voice chimed. I peeked up and saw the head nurse standing authoritatively in the doorway. Mr. Nieludski pushed past her.
“Yeah, I'm okay.” My voice shook.
“Your heartrate is heightened. If you need any help, please don't hesitate to call.” She left, and I waited for my husband to return. Mercifully, he did not.
For ten days, I lived in a strange world of monitors, whooshing heartbeats, The Price is Right, and Jell-O. My husband stayed less than an hour each day, and barely spoke when he came. He told me that he was “getting the house ready for the baby”, but seeing as we were to all share a single bedroom, I wasn't sure what he meant. Still, I felt better without him than I had when he was there. I slept peacefully, and Teddy Bear was calm. On his day off, he slept in a reclining chair beside me, and I startled awake many times, swearing I could feel his eyes on me. In the darkness, I watched his mouth.
In the last hours of July, the doctors told me that it was time to get the baby out. We had made it to thirty-six weeks, and there was a much higher percent chance of her being healthy at this stage. I was excited to meet my little girl, but terrified of the delivery. They induced my delayed labor. As the tension and pressure in my core built, my mind’s boundaries between wakefulness and dreaming blurred. My husband arrived just as I finished getting an epidural. He brought a huge bouquet of flowers, and I hazily smiled at the flowers. He leaned to me, whispering: "I'm so sorry that I lost my temper the other day. It won't happen again, it's just the stress has been getting to me, you know?" I said I understood, but mostly to get him away from me.
Half an hour later, his mother came and sat in a chair, with a direct view of the birthing canal. Her cigarette stink filled the room as she praised her son for his accomplishment of her new grandchild. My legs splayed open and half-conscious, people asked me questions and shoved monitors into and around me. They said things confusing to someone who was one day shy of twenty-and-a-half. “Blood pressure elevated”, “increase Pitocin to two milliunits”, and “we're at five centimeters now” flowed in and out of my consciousness. I felt no pain, no indication of my baby, just my abdomen spasming without sensation. My husband and his mother talked, but I have no idea what they said.
Next thing I remember is him squeezing my hand beside my face, repeating “You're doing great”, over and over, like a chant. Four people gathered, staring at my exposed genitals, and I felt embarrassed.
“I don't want to do this,” I cried.
“You're doing great,” the doctor and nurses all chanted, as well.
“No, I don't want to do this!” But my body pushed without me asking it to.
“You're doing great,” my husband's mother chanted beyond view.
Please stop, my mind said, but my mouth just screamed in agony. Then, all at once, I knew she was out, and I felt such a profound relief and emptiness at the same time. My mind cleared a bit, and I wondered why she wasn't crying.
“It's a girl!” The doctor announced, like I didn't know. I needed to know immediately why she wasn't crying. My useless mouth just said: “Where is she?”
The nurse nearest said: “She's just getting cleaned up, don't worry.” But I just asked again and again.
“Something's wrong, we need to get her to the NICU immediately! Get everyone out of here!” The doctor said. I started to cry. I hadn't even seen her, and now she might die. My husband was gone, the nurses were rushing around, and I was so tired that I fought to keep my eyes open.
In the corner of the room, I saw a small, clear plastic cradle, surrounded by nurses scrambling.
“Please,” I begged. “Please let me see her before she goes.” As they rushed the cradle out of the room, the nurses parted for a split second. Screams erupted from me, laden with sick. There in the plexiglass cradle was a purple and red mound with fully-formed, glinting, white teeth… Smiling.
