French Fry (The French Twist Series Book 3) Page 15

  I gently patted Avery’s back, humming to him softly. After a couple minutes, I realized my latest penchant for Michael Jackson had resulted in my humming “Billie Jean.” Perhaps not the most child friendly choice since it’s about knocking up someone other than your wife, but it has a great melody and a rockin’ beat, so I figured he would be none the wiser.

  Suddenly the smell of something so awful I might vomit hit my nostrils. Dear God, was that me? I shouldn’t have eaten a chicken burrito for breakfast. (All natural!) I searched the room for Sally, thinking an emergency trip to the bathroom was in order. As I adjusted my hold on Avery to attain a better view of the room, my hand landed in something wet. Oh no. I switched my grip and held my hand up to find it covered in green liquid. I hadn’t seen any liquid come from his mouth, so it must have come from his… No. Just no.

  While I continued my desperate attempt to locate Sally, Kate or anyone who could help me with this mess, I heard a burp emanate from Avery which was punctuated with the sound of exiting liquid. Fuck! There was now vomit in my hair. VOMIT IN MY HAIR! I started to take a deep breath, but thought better of it since vapors coming from my general area were far too pungent. I could easily see myself vomiting on this poor baby and that sin would be something I would never live down. Even if he started it.

  Why couldn’t I have been left in charge of Kayla and Hailey? I gazed longingly in their direction as they sat quietly on the floor and passed blocks back and forth. They were the most adorable twins I had ever come across. I was mesmerized by their gorgeous brown hair, flawless complexions and beautiful smiles.

  Ouch! Apparently pooping and barfing on me wasn’t quite enough. Avery was now pulling my chandelier earring. (Sam had no interest in earrings of any kind, so I have continued to wear them around her.) Had I known there would be a group of babies here, I wouldn’t have worn them. I thought I had a few more months of indulgence before I had to give up gorgeous accessories too. Motherhood will be wonderful, but it will also be a long exercise in deprivation from what I hear—very little in the way of sleep, sex and pretty things.

  I finally located Kate and affixed her with a glare of horror which instantly brought forth the look. You know what I mean—the “don’t embarrass me in front of my friends” look. I get it from her a lot. I’m sure you can imagine why.

  I was finally extricated from Avery’s impression of The Exorcist and quickly excused myself to Kate’s bedroom to freshen up. I grabbed a maternity t-shirt and leggings from the back of her closet and went to the bathroom to change. It took a good twenty minutes and most of my energy to remove the majority of the eau de vomit and excrement scent I was wearing, but I found myself presentable in the end.

  I gathered my dirty clothes to take to the laundry room when the realization hit me that twins run in Louis’ family. Sure, I had two ultrasounds to prove I was currently carrying ONE baby, but who’s to say I won’t have twins next time? After everything I had seen today, one at a time would be more than enough to keep me busy.

  Feeling faint, I dropped the soiled clothes in the bathtub and sat on the toilet. I tried to put my head between my knees, but with a protruding belly, this was too difficult to execute. I knew I should go lie down on Kate’s bed and put my feet up, but wasn’t sure I could make it such a distance without falling.

  As I was contemplating my options, I heard a knock at the door. Thirty seconds later, Kate’s head popped into view.

  “Syd?” She took one look at me and frowned. Then she helped me up and guided me to her bed. I gratefully laid down while she put pillows under my feet. She went to the bathroom and returned with a wet washcloth for my head.

  Kate sat next to me and squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t know things would get so out of hand.”

  I chuckled softly. “It was fun. Until the eruption of fluids.”

  Kate grimaced. “Yeah, you need to be exposed to it in small doses. Plus, the lack of sleep which comes with motherhood helps to dull your senses to the, um, unpleasantness.” Nice euphemism, Kate.

  I was about to unleash a witty retort when she put her finger over my lips. “Now is the time to rest. You know how concerned Dr. Bauer is about your blood pressure. I’m going to see everyone out. You stay here and relax.”

  I exhaled slowly. “Sounds good.”

  Kate kissed me quickly on the nose and left. I closed my eyes and tried to rest, but I wasn’t able to get the images (or odors) from the last hour out of my head. The myriad of joyful parenting experiences seemed to be well matched with a myriad of potential atrocities. How in the world would I cope with all of it? I shook my head and reminded myself that becoming a mother meant I would finally have to accept a concept I had been fighting for years now. It was simply not possible to have all the answers or to prepare yourself for every imaginable outcome. Unless you were Yoda. Scared shitless, I was.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Two weeks have passed since Baby Armageddon and I have finally gotten over Sam’s cold. I came down with it the next day and was treated with a regimen of regular strength Tylenol, saline nasal drops and a saltwater gargle. Woo-fucking-hoo. You guessed it! My potty mouth is here to stay. Another lovely side effect of pregnancy. The only good thing I can say is I tend to swear only in my head and not out loud, which means these ugly sounds won’t reach my baby’s pristine little ears. (It isn’t like he can read my mind, right?) Instead he gets to hear my voice read him nursery rhymes, my favorite Sandra Boynton books (I highly recommend Moo, Baa, La La La!) and Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. As far as I’m concerned, you are never too young for a little HP magic.

  Since my illness took my lack of filter to a whole new level (Lyndsey nearly got a rather profane earful about her latest concierge request), I elected to take a couple of days off from work. In truth, it was nice to have some time to myself. I chose a bunch of maternity ensembles for Maya to order from her Motherhood Maternity connection, tried a new prenatal yoga DVD (as in, I tried to watch it, but I kept falling asleep.) and caught up with my family via Face Time.

  It was downright comical watching my dad try to figure out how to converse through a visual medium. We chose to try this new endeavor while my parents were visiting with Charlie and Zoe, so my brother could discreetly tutor my father. My mom held regular vendor meetings using Face Time, so she was perfectly comfortable, but my dad was a bit resistant to this particular technological innovation. He kept holding the tablet far too close to his face. I would try to correct him, but by the end I became accustomed to having the conversation with his nostrils. I sincerely hope he finds those nose hair clippers soon. And elects to use them.

  After Zoe and I finished our weekly rundown on pregnancy woes and had swapped treatment options, my dad ran over for one last comment.

  “Duck!” Hello, nostrils! It has been a while.

  I smirked. At least he could see MY face. “What’s up, Dad? Did you forget something?”

  He lowered his voice. “I have a new plan to woo your mother.”

  I broke into a grin. “Really? What’s the plan?”

  “Well, Maya was telling me about…” The view of the camera shifted and I could see the edge of Charlie’s face. I wanted to yell, “Hello! Still here!” but didn’t want to sound rude. I heard a bit of Charlie’s pleas which I believed translated to: “Stop whispering,” since my dad’s whispers carry farther than most people’s shouts.

  The next thing I saw was the entirety of Charlie’s face. Thank goodness!

  “Sorry, Syd! We could all hear what dad was saying and he was about to spill the beans.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “What beans? What’s he up to?”

  The screen moved and my mother’s face came into view. “Your father has some big date planned for us. I think Maya is helping him.”

  This just got better and better. The only information I’d been given from Maya in weeks was wedding related. I was going to have to call her next. I glanced at the clock to assess where sh
e would be when I realized I had to go.

  “Mom? I have to run. Will you say goodbye to everyone for me?”

  She smiled at me. “Sure, sweetheart. Are you heading to your Lamaze class?”

  My mom had a mind like a steel trap. It was too bad you couldn’t inherit something so useful. “Yes, I am! I need to meet Louis at the hospital in half an hour.”

  Charlie’s face came back on the screen. “Lamaze classes, already? Are you sure you want to go there, Syd? Things can get a little graphic.”

  I heard a thump, which I knew to be the result of my mother whacking Charlie in the back of the head. Then the screen got all jumbled and I heard my mother say, “Don’t say that to her!”

  My mom’s face came back on the screen. “Going at the start of your third trimester gives you plenty of time to digest the material.”

  Uh-huh. Well, it is too late to back out now! “Thanks, Mom.”

  “You’d better get going. I love you! Give Louis a hug for us, OK? I can’t believe we’re going to see you next week!”

  I beamed. My parents were coming out next week for Samantha’s first birthday. Granted, we were two weeks early, but trying to schedule a weekend which works for six busy adults AND provided affordable air fare for two of them was hard to come by.

  “I love you too, Mom. I will. Pass hugs around to everyone for me. I’m so excited to see you!”

  I quickly disconnected from Face Time, allowing myself a moment to think about my parents. Face Time is great, but digital hugs don’t really do it for me. My only sadness was Charlie and Zoe wouldn’t be coming as well. Zoe’s pregnancy had been getting more difficult and she wasn’t inclined to fly. I didn’t blame her; the last thing I wanted to do was get on a plane—which is why I hadn’t seen them since Thanksgiving.

  Your moment is over, Sydney! I sighed and prepared to leave the apartment. This now meant a stop at the bathroom for the obvious emptying of the bladder and the visual presentability check, which was often followed by the change-the-stained-garment exercise, ending with a makeup touch up and a trip to the laundry closet for stain treatment. At twenty-six weeks pregnant, I think it is safe to say I dropped more food on my clothes than I got into my mouth. I’m thinking about investing in an adult bib. My dad has a nice collection which he employs at a variety of restaurants around town. Laugh if you will, but his stomach is about as large as mine is now. Since he has no plans of doing the necessary dieting to change this condition, he has chosen to take preventative measures to protect his clothes. You have to admire that kind of fortitude.

  I arrived at the hospital with exactly one minute to spare and found Louis waiting for me at the entrance with a perturbed look on his face.

  I was still huffing when I came to a screeching halt in front of him. “Sorry, I’m late, Bluey!”

  His face softened. “It is fine, mon coeur, I was worried you had a flat tire or something.”

  “Thankfully, I didn’t.” I sighed. “Everything takes longer now.”

  He kissed me tenderly on the lips, took my hand and led me into the hospital. A quick check in at the information desk led us to a conference room on the third floor. We opened the door to find five couples seated in a circle and a severe looking woman wearing a name tag which read, “Nurse Bertha.” The two empty chairs and the surly expression on her face indicated we were in deep trouble. Oh joy.

  “Finally! We were going to send a search party for you.” There was a smile following her comment, but it was completely devoid of warmth. The wicked gleam in her eye and the snaggletooth gave it more of a “And your little dog too” vibe.

  I laughed nervously. “I’m so sorry for the delay. It’s all my fault. I’m moving a bit more slowly lately.” I scanned the room and noticed a number of sympathetic looks from the women and eye rolls from the men. Nothing surprising there.

  “Am I to presume you are Sydney and Louis Durand?” I cringed at her pronunciation of our last name, but nodded just the same.

  Louis stepped forward and extended his hand. Putting on his very best French accent he said, “Louis Durand. Enchante.”

  While Bertha’s expression didn’t change, every other woman in the room lit up. A sexy foreign accent always has quite an effect on women—especially horny pregnant women. I bit my lip to stifle my giggle. I had no desire to incur any further wrath from Nurse Ratched. Yikes! Now I had to stifle a further giggle AND will myself not to refer to her as the iconic battle axe from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest out loud. That is totally something I would do in my current state of pregnant stupidity. (Think it’s a myth? Wait until it’s your turn, my pretty.)

  Ignoring Louis’ hand, she glared at me and said, “Yes, it is clear who you are. Please take your seats.”

  I couldn’t hide the shock on my face. As we sat down, Louis whispered it was no big deal, but I thought I saw a trace of a smile lingering on her lips as Bertha began her lecture.

  Our industrious instructor spent the first ten minutes outlining the main points of the class. Aside from the obvious Lamaze breathing, we would be discussing birth plans, the stages of labor, labor teams and labor positions. Was I being paranoid or was she giving me the stink eye at the conclusion of each point? Get a grip, Sydney. You need to focus.

  A quick assessment of the room told me I was the least pregnant of the bunch. Eyeballing it, I would say three of the women were around thirty-eight weeks and the other two were between thirty-two and thirty-six weeks. Was I somehow in the wrong for coming in so early? Was there a monopoly on the knowledge of labor until you reached a certain point in your pregnancy? Or did I commit the sin of taking someone else’s spot in Bertha’s eyes? Perhaps someone who was in more desperate need of her teachings?

  I decided I must be imagining things and turned my attention back to the materials in front of me. Bertha spent another fifteen minutes going through the biology of the last month of the baby’s development and indicated where early labor might factor in. With the basics under our belt, we were ready to move on to stages of labor.

  For this unnerving topic, Bertha pulled the easel to the front of the room. She wrote “First, Second, Third” on the paper in three separate columns and surveyed the room, gracing us with an evil leer. (Honestly, this is the most apt description.)

  “We will start our discussion of labor by watching this brilliant educational video.” She tapped the easel with her marker. “Pay attention for information on the first, second and third stages of labor. There will be a test!” A giant guffaw gave us a clear view of her creepy snaggletooth and caused her short black hair to bob up and down in time with her hysterics. Not the prettiest picture.

  After turning on the TV and starting the DVD player, Bertha dimmed the lights. Her expression was positively gleeful as the opening titles played. I shook off my feeling of dread and concentrated on the screen. OK. Obviously this video was made many years ago (the hairstyles and clothes on these folks haven’t been seen in decades), which made me wonder how relevant it was to the process of labor in today’s hospitals. Not that labor itself had changed, but the methods and tools available were far more advanced than when this cinematic masterpiece was made. Nice choice, Bertha.

  Completely bewildered as to the point of watching this video, I listened to the bushy haired woman named Harmony (no joke!) as she described her birth plan. She wanted her baby to be born into the “wonder” of the water—to literally “float into the world.” She pointed triumphantly to what appeared to be a glorified kiddy pool and bounced up and down in excitement, which only drew attention to her braless state. My unrestrained snort at this grand revelation earned me an icy stare from our tactless leader. Louis smirked at me and squeezed my hand. At least he had a sense of humor.

  Once we were treated to a number of equally hokey birth plans, the pace of the video picked up. Big red letters spelling out “Stage One” flashed across the screen. Stage one was then broken down into early labor and active labor. Cartoon diagrams explained that ear
ly labor included initial cervix dilation, mild contractions and the release of the mucous plug. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

  Then our good friend Harmony popped up on the screen to tell us, “With an average length of six to twelve hours, it’s recommended you stay at home and rest during this time.” Thanks, Harmony! Perhaps I’ll give myself a manicure simply to pass the time. I felt a little nervous at this point, but still felt confident in my ability to make it through the video unscathed.

  Next up was Harmony’s good friend, Saffron, to discuss active labor. With a huge grin on her face, she sweet talked us through stronger, longer and more frequent contractions. She then went into the possibilities of leg cramps, nausea, back pressure and dum, dum, dum—your water breaking—if it hadn’t already! Her smile waned slightly as she told us this stage may last for up to eight hours. She earnestly suggested changing positions, taking a walk or a bath, getting a massage or practicing deep breathing exercises to ease your discomfort. We were then shown our collection of model couples practicing each of these methods during what was touted as actual labor.

  Discomfort? Are you serious? Everything you mentioned both sounds and looks like full-fledged PAIN, Saffy! There is no need to sugar coat it!

  As I tried to control my breathing, the words “Stage Two: The Birth of your Baby” flashed onto the screen and I felt my hands start to shake. This was becoming too intense way too fast. I wasn’t ready to deal with this yet. I thought I had at least another ten minutes…

  Louis put his arm around me and I did my best to smile up at him. I couldn’t let him see how freaked out I was. The new, mature Sydney was the one having this baby, decidedly not the old insanity-riddled Sydney. This shit was way too tough for her. She simply couldn’t handle it!

  Louis leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Are you alright, mon coeur?”

  Time to lie. I whispered back, “Absolutely fine, Bluey.”