Today is the day! I am to go for an ultra sound. I was awake most of the night wondering what the sex of the baby I was carrying was. Would it be a boy? I already have a girl; wouldn’t it be nice to have a boy? It would be nice. It would be neat. Having a boy and a girl seems so…planned, so balanced.
I had an appointment and so they were expecting me. But I had to wait for some time. The doctor was late or had an emergency or something. When he FINALLY graces us with his presence, the receptionist asks me to follow him to his office.
We get down to it. The niceties are always there: “How are you doing … (checks my name from his records) Renatta?” “How is baby doing?” He checks my blood pressure. Asks if I have had any problems since my last visit. “We are to do an ultrasound today, is that so?” I reply in the affirmative. Today is the day!
He asks me to lie on the bed. I hate this part. I always found lying on my back quite uncomfortable during pregnancy. I indulge him anyway. I came dressed for this exercise. I lift my blouse all the way to my chest exposing my bump. I am five months pregnant and so my bump is the perfect size; neither too big nor too small. I pull my maternity jeans down a tad to give him enough room for maneuver. When I feel ready, I look up to see the doc ready with gloves, the ultrasound machine and a tube of gel.
He squeezes some gel onto my tummy. The gel feels cold against my warm body. He uses the ultrasonic massager to smear the gel all over. The machine does its thing and we soon listen in to the heartbeat of my little one. I am carrying a live small human being inside of me. I enjoy the moment. Get lost in it. The doc then interrupts my moment; “Would you like to know the sex of the baby?” he asks.
I take a deep breath. “Yes”
I was never one to wait for surprises to be handed to me at the delivery room.
He peers keenly at the machine as if to avoid making any mistakes.
“It’s a girl” he finally says.
Not a boy? I am a bit disappointed. Not a boy. Ok. A girl is fine.
The gel wiped from my tummy, I pull my blouse back down, pull up my jeans and I am back on my feet again.
I was carrying Heidi then and I was thinking that it was ok to have another girl because a boy needs his father more. Boys need their fathers to grown into men. It is a bit scary that I was preparing for single motherhood years ago. Four years ago.
It is exactly two weeks since THE breakup. In the span of those two weeks (and partly because of that ultrasound appointment I had four years ago) my stint at marriage has come to an end, we have moved and relocated to a different town (yet again) and I have said goodbye to that part of my life – and took insults and name calling on my way out – like the sport I am. Nobody likes you when you say an emphatic no to bullshit. Chances are there might be more insults and name calling coming my way, but I can take it. Really.
I don’t know if anyone else has had to change towns twice in a year – I could easily be holding the record for that. I am tempted to dig and find out. I could possibly hold…wait, you could be reading from a record holder. Is that huge or what?!
So, two weeks! Here we are at last! Making do, the girls and I. We are somewhere in Kenya. Not Sotik of course. We’re not back in Nairobi either – anyone wanna guess which part of Kenya the girls and I shipped to? The only clue I can give is that this town’s name means ‘Stony River’ – literally named after a prominent (stony river) in the town. I pretty much gave it away didn’t I?
In other news, the tears finally came! Yeah. It was a whole ceremony. I put out the paper napkins, and played my favorite sob music from The Script. Si those boys have beautifully-sung depressing songs! I mean, who wouldn’t have a breakdown with songs like Breakeven, Nothing, No good in Goodbye… I recommend them for a good cry after a breakup. They can make you cry any looming depression out of your system. Totally!
Thirteen years. We had been On and Off for 13 years and I knew that there would come a day when once off, there would be no ON again. That day has finally come to pass. After two weeks of moving up and down and ensuring that my children and my writing – all of my babies basically – get as little disruption as possible, I finally let the tears flow. 13 years don’t go down the drain in silence. In all fairness, 13 years deserve a teary send-off. So I gave in to the tears. I too needed the tears. It was either that, or I would have had to see a shrink about a persistent sore throat.
Thanks for the well wishes, the messages and the virtual hugs.
I am alive!