KD Robichaux- Wish he was you (The Blogger Diaries Trilogy Book 2) Page 10
It’s gotten to the point now though that I feel like I’m one of those stage-five clingers. And so when I presented him with something I want, with the exceptional reason I gave, he jumped at the idea, ready to squeegee my ass off him so he could get back to his video games in peace.
I want a baby.
GASP! I know. I already had to hear an earful from my loudmouth bestie. It’s not the greatest decision to have a baby because I’m lonely. But y’all know me. My little body is too small to contain all the love I have inside me. I want someone I can pour my overflow into. That baby will be the most loved, spoiled rotten little thing that will ever be brought into the world. All the attention I have to give someone that Aiden doesn’t appreciate or even want, I will put into my son or daughter. And in return, I’ll have someone who truly loves me, unconditionally.
I’m aware he or she will be mine, all mine, because I don’t expect Aiden to change his ways, and in a way, if I do get pregnant, I wouldn’t want him to. I’ll have something that’s all mine that he won’t be able to keep me away from.
So, today, on my weekly run to Edward McKay’s, Riley, my ever-present companion in his doggy-purse as usual, I didn’t just scour the romance section. I bought every book on pregnancy they had.
Only bad part about trying to make a baby? Now I’ll have to have sex with Aiden. grumpy face
Consolation: I’ll just fantasize about my heated nights with Jason to get the juices flowing. Even though I’m hurt over Jason’s disappearance, not a single bit of my feelings for him have waned.
If he were to message or call me right this moment, or any moment in the future, I’m sure we would pick up right where we left off, like no time had passed at all.
This distance, this dissolution. I cling to memories, while falling.
September 2, 2006
I wake up with the all but forgotten feeling of being ran over by a Mack truck. Only I didn’t drink last night. Believe me, I tried. We went to the pool hall for my birthday celebration, meeting up with a bunch of our old friends for a night out, away from the apartment—that’s all I wanted.
But, the moment I walked into the smoky bar, I had to rush back outside to puke my brains out. Was it the dinner I ate? I didn’t know. But after I got it all out of me, I felt better, and we went back inside. Nothing alcoholic sounded good, so I just got a Sprite to sip on until my stomach settled, but it never did. Aiden didn’t want to leave, all wrapped up in a game of pool with a few of his coworkers, so Anni ended up bringing me back home. Déjà vu, right? Another birthday I was left alone by the man—cough, boy—in my life. Is it normal for a husband to let his sick wife go home without him? It seems like that would be something one just wouldn’t do.
I shrug it off. Whatever. I’ve given up caring what he does. Instead of dwelling, I roll myself out of bed and make my way to the bathroom. When I sit on the toilet and see the roll of paper is empty, I open the cabinet under the sink and reach in for a new one, and that’s when I see the stack of pregnancy tests I bought at the Dollar Tree next to my box of tampons. I bought them when Aiden and I first started trying to get pregnant.
Doing a little math in my head, I realize I’m over a week late for my period. I immediately flex my muscles and cut off the stream as I snatch one of the tests from the cabinet, hurriedly rip it open, and read through the instructions.
After following all the steps, I prepare to wait the three minutes it says it’ll take for the results to appear, but it takes less than ten seconds for the second little pink line to show up.
I take a deep breath.
I’m pregnant!
Elation fills me. I can barely contain my excitement. I jump up from the toilet, wiggle until I pull my pants all the way up, and then take a second to live in the moment. I stare at the test, tears filling my eyes as I grin stupidly at the lines like they’re going to respond to my joy.
But all of a sudden, all that elation, excitement, and joy turns abruptly into nausea, and I throw myself back at the toilet, emptying out the little bit of Sprite I drank when I got home last night. When the shivering subsides and I feel like I can stand, I get up and walk out into the living room, seeing Aiden is passed out on the couch, the start screen of his video game repeating its opening theme over and over.
I walk over and turn off the TV, and the quiet wakes him up. He jackknifes off of the couch and then looks at me, and his red-rimmed eyes tell me he’s probably still drunk from last night. I’m so glad he had such a good time without me at my birthday get-together.
But I don’t let my irritation with him bring me down. I punch my arm out in front of me with the test facing him in my hand and announce, “I’m pregnant!”
He stumbles over to me and takes the white plastic into his hands and then looks from it to me. He smiles crookedly and then surprises me by wrapping me in a big hug.
When he pulls away, he says, “Some birthday present, huh?”
I grin and look down at the pregnancy test in his hands. “Yep, I got exactly what I wanted.” I glance at the time on the cable box above the TV and see it’s way later than I thought it was. It’s close to noon, and thankfully I have the weekend off for my birthday.
We’re meeting my parents at Peaden’s Seafood Restaurant in a few hours for an early dinner. We’ve been going there since I can remember for special occasions. It’s a pretty far drive from my parents’ house, on the other end of Fayetteville, but our apartment is only about fifteen minutes away from it. So that gives me plenty of time before we need to start getting ready to go.
While Aiden goes to take a shower, I do a little research in my pregnancy books and on the Internet on the nausea I’m having. I make mental notes of all the tips they give on how to ward off some of the morning sickness, which I learn quickly is a liar of a name. I have all-damn-day-and-night sickness. I need to get some Saltine crackers and some ginger ale, and I discover there are hard sour candies with ginger in them that seem to work for a lot of women. I’ll make sure to swing by Motherhood Maternity next time I’m at the mall to grab a container of them, since it looks like that’s the only place you can find them.
After a little more research, I see a lot of people recommend Sea-Bands, which were first created for sea-sickness, but seem to work just as well for morning sickness. I’m not really sure how they work, a lot of talk about acupressure, but I’m willing to give anything a try.
I close up the laptop and bookmark the pages in my books, and then go into the bathroom to get ready to take a shower. Maybe that’ll make me feel better until I can stop at a store on the way to dinner for some ginger ale. Aiden is drying off with one of our big, fluffy black towels, and I strip out of my pajamas quickly, ready to get under the hot spray. He catches me around the waist as I go to move past him to step into the tub, and I don’t know if it’s the motion of him swinging me into him, or the pressure of his arm against my stomach, but it sparks another wave of nausea, and I bend double over the toilet.
At first, he jumps back, surprised by my sudden sickness, when he was trying to be affectionate for once, but then he pulls my hair away from my face, holding it at the back of my head as he rubs my back. There’s nothing left in my stomach, so all that comes up is burning foamy acid, the taste and smell snowballing the shittiness I feel. When my heaving finally ends, he helps stand me up, and I move toward the shower.
“You going to be okay to stand up in there by yourself? Maybe you should take a bath instead,” Aiden suggests, sounding genuinely worried.
“I’ll be fine. Just keep the bathroom door open or something. I’ll call out for you if I need you.” I don’t know how I feel about his sudden concern. Ever since he got back from deployment, I would swear he doesn’t give two shits about me. This new side of him makes me uncomfortable. I think I’d rather just take care of myself, without his help.
But instead of leaving and keeping the door open like I asked, to my horror, he lowers the lid of the toilet and takes a seat. “What
are you doing?” I ask, irritated.
“You look like you could faint at any second. You’re all shaky and pale. I’m not going to leave you by yourself and let you, like, pass out in the tub and crack your skull open,” he says sternly.
“Wow, way to make a girl feel pretty.” I roll my eyes and close the clear shower curtain, and as I wait for the water temperature to feel just right, which doesn’t take long since Aiden just got out a few minutes earlier, and I turn on the showerhead, I see him grab the nail clippers out of the basket on the counter and start cutting his nails.
The situation feels so…domestic. A concerned husband sitting close by clipping his nails, while his pregnant wife showers. If my feelings for him were stronger, this would be a moment I’d treasure. This would be a moment I’d look back on and tell my son or daughter, “Your daddy was so sweet. He didn’t want to leave my side for fear I’d get hurt while I was pregnant with you. Such a protective husband.”
But instead, I’m annoyed. Where was this Aiden for the past year we’ve been married? All I’ve known for the last year, through his deployment and since he got back, has been some selfish, domineering, controlling asshat. I’ve gotten used to that person, and it weirds me out he can all of a sudden just up and change his whole personality.
Or maybe I’m just being a bitch. Didn’t I just read in the pregnancy books that the hormones running through my body could give me crazy mood swings? Should I be more appreciative of his behavior?
I don’t know. And at this moment, I don’t really care. All I know is the shower is making me feel much better, and I can’t wait to get to the restaurant to tell my parents they’ll be grandparents for the seventh time over.
In sorrow, I speak your name, and my voice mirrors my torment
“It’s going to be a girl,” my mom states matter-of-factly, making me laugh.
As we waited for our food to arrive, sitting in our wooden booth at Peaden’s, my dad and me devouring the delicious hushpuppies—the cornbread feeling fantastic on my empty stomach—dipping them in ketchup like we’ve always done, I announced that I was pregnant. Seeing my excitement in the way I told them, they knew to be happy for me. Mom knew I was trying, so she wasn’t surprised by the news.
Daddy reached his hand across the table and shook Aiden’s hand, who just shrugged. Yeah, that’s right. Just shrug like it’s no big deal, because it’s not one for you. You just got your rocks off, I think hatefully.
Mom made her proclamation of the baby being a girl, snapping my attention back to her, and I laugh. “Oh yeah? How do you know?” I ask.
“Well, just think about it. Your brothers, from oldest to youngest, had a pattern. Mark had two boys. Tony had a boy then a girl. Jay had a girl then a boy. So, boy-boy, boy-girl, girl-boy…the only pattern left is girl-girl. I bet you a million dollars you’ll end up having two little princesses for me to spoil rotten,” she tells me with a nod and an adorable giddy glint in her bright blue eyes.
“A million dollars, huh?” I tease.
“Yep. Your momma knows these things.” She smiles, and my excitement grows at the elation in her eyes. My mom and I have always been super close. I’ve always heard the term ‘daddy’s girl,’ but I am definitely a momma’s girl. She and my granny are my favorite people in the entire world.
It’s just been us three gals against all the boys. Besides my dad and my three older brothers, I also had six uncles around all the time, four who lived right around our lake, one down the road, and one who visited from Minnesota every chance he got. I don’t know if that’s why my granny, mom, and I have always been so close, me being the only little girl, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Well, in that case, Jocelyn it is,” I inform the table.
“What?” Aiden prompts.
“Ever since I was fifteen, I always said if I have a girl, her name would be Jocelyn. It’s the name of the princess in A Knight’s Tale. I heard the name and just knew that’d be my daughter’s name,” I explain. “And there’s no point in even trying to argue with me. Her name will be Jocelyn, whether you like it or not.”
Aiden glances at me with a surprised look on his face, and I feel heat slide up the back of my neck, not embarrassment, but a want for him to even try to voice a negative opinion about the name I’ve loved for the past seven years. Bring it.
“You know what? I kind of like it. It’s different, and that movie is badass. Jocelyn it is,” he wisely agrees. “On the off chance your mom is wrong, do you have a boy name picked out?”
“I was toying with names, combining a couple, playing with the spelling, and I got the best idea when you mentioned maybe naming him Aiden Jr., when we first started trying a couple months ago. But I wouldn’t want to deal with the confusion of having two Aidens, so I came up with Avan. I combined Aiden with Ava, my mom’s name, and got Avan.” I look at my dad across the table as he dips another hushpuppy into the ketchup. “He’d be Avan Michael.”
My dad looks up at me and grins. “That’s an awesome sentiment, baby girl. But you know your mother is never wrong. Jocelyn is a beautiful name.”
“Then it’ll be Jocelyn Ava,” I confirm, and when I see tears fill my mom’s eyes and watch as she grabs her napkin to dab at her lashes, I lose it. My mommy never cries, and from the beaming smile on her face, I know they are happy tears. Aiden wraps his arm around my shoulders as I half-sob, half-laugh along with my mom.
When our food arrives, the waitress doesn’t know what to think. She places the plates in front of each of us and then hurries away after asking if we need anything else. Mom and I compose ourselves, and when I look down at my plate, my stomach growls angrily. I’m starving, but the thought of putting even one of the fried popcorn shrimp into my mouth makes the nausea return full force.
Mom must see my discomfort, because she quickly grabs the tinfoil wrapped baked potato off my plate, cuts it open, adds a little butter and some salt, and then mushes it all up inside its skin. She pulls the plate out from in front of me, removing the overwhelming fishy smell from directly under my nostrils, and replaces it with the fixed potato. She hands me a fork and then scoots my Sprite closer to me.
“Small bites, KD. Take a small bite of the potato, and then a sip of Sprite, back and forth,” she instructs, and I cautiously do what she said.
Shockingly, I make it through my potato, and then finish off the leftover half of Aiden’s and the hushpuppies, the heavy carbs and the tingling carbonated beverage making my stomach feel comfortably full for the first time in two days. I should’ve known my mom would have the solution. After all, she had four of us.
When Aiden and I get home, he goes straight to the couch and turns on his laptop for a round of Texas Hold ‘em on his online gambling site. I shake my head in exasperation, but also smirk with relief. I should have known his concern and affectionate behavior wouldn’t last long.
I go change into some pajamas and slide beneath my down comforter, feeling full and tired, like I could sleep for a week. I pull my laptop over my legs from my nightstand and open up the document I was using to toy with baby names and their spelling. Yes, I’m one of those people who want to spell their kid’s name all weird. Sure, they won’t be able to buy personalized stuff off the shelf, but more and more places are popping up where you can get things customized, from decorative license plates to embroidered towels, so I’m not concerned.
I type out my girl’s name.
J-O-C-E-L-Y-N.
And I don’t know if it’s because it’s in all caps or what, because I’d never noticed before this moment, but an idea dawns on me, and I feel a surge of adrenaline when I type out the name for the first time.
J-O-S-A-L-Y-N.
Besides the L-Y, if you rearrange the letters, it spells Jason. I’d give just about anything to wake up and this all be a dream, waking to realize that I’m happily married to my soul mate, and the doctors were all wrong and we were able to make a beautiful baby. But I know this is my reality, and for once
, knowing I’ll have my baby to love, I feel a sense of completion when I type out the rest of her name, and end up falling asleep with a secret smile on my face.
My daughter’s name will be Josalyn Ava.
Kayla’s Chick Rant & Book Blog
November 8, 2006
I broke our TV remote throwing it at Aiden’s head yesterday when it missed and shattered against the wall beside him. It was worth missing my target just to see the look on his face when I actually did what I threatened to do. Motherfucker.
We found out a couple of weeks ago he was deploying again. Trust me, this was fine by me. The inconsiderate prick needed to go away. For me, the day I found out I was pregnant, it was an easy thing to immediately stop smoking. I haven’t picked up a cigarette since. Especially with all the morning sickness I’ve had, the smell of cigarettes was an instant trigger for my nausea. One would think that if a man knew the smell would make his wife, the woman carrying his unborn child, miserable and barf her brains out, he would stop that shit. Oh no, not Aiden. His response? “You’re the one who’s pregnant, not me. Why should I have to quit?”
Cue the giant silver cable box remote zooming through the air and missing my mark by mere inches, plastic, rubber buttons, and batteries flying in all directions.
After that, he finished packing up all his stuff in his rucksacks and started loading up all the boxes I’ve been packing into the moving van. I’m going to stay with my parents again while he’s gone. I’ve absolutely had it with him. As far as I’m concerned, he’s just my sperm donor and roommate.
Something else one would think? When the plan is for your pregnant wife to go live with her parents when you deploy in a few weeks, you don’t make her—who has dwindled down to a mere 93 lbs., because all she can keep down are baked potatoes and Preggy Pops—pack up the entire apartment, while you sit on your ass and play video games. The thirty or so boxes that fill our living and dining rooms have all been packed by yours truly. Not a single one was filled by the jackass I have the pleasure of calling my husband.