Yesterday was a big day. It was our first ultrasound. Technically, it’s still a little early. Lovie’s only six weeks along. But the nurse tech was nice enough to make an exception for us given how anxious she knew we were.
The last time Lovie was pregnant, I still owned the countertop business. And we were particularly busy at the time. That’s why my wife suggested that I stay at work. After all, she knew that if I were to take a couple of hours in the middle of my day to accompany her, I’d be home that much later that night. And in those days, I was already coming home late enough as it was. So I skipped it.
When Lovie asked me if I wanted to come this time, I was quick to answer. “You’re damn right I do,” I began. “The last ultrasound I missed yielded triplets. Missing this one is a chance I’m just not willing to take.”
Since the moment we found out that Lovie was pregnant, the million dollar question on both of our minds has been How many? All our friends told us to relax. The odds were overwhelming that there was just one.
But when it comes to odds, Lovie and I have proven that we’re not afraid to land on the slim ones. In fact, for Lovie to even get pregnant without any help was extremely unlikely. It was that unlikelihood which served as the answer to yet another million-dollar question often asked to us by our close friends — If y’all didn’t want any more children, why didn’t you ever do anything about it?
It’s not like we never discussed it. A few days before her C-section for the triplets, I encouraged Lovie to get her tubes tied. “You know. Since the hood’ll be up, and all. May as well let the mechanic multi-task.”
“You’re a jackass. You know that?” she asked. “I don’t want to get my tubes tied. Why don’t you just get snipped?”
Simple. This jackass is scared of the knife. Plus, I hate frozen peas. The last thing I’d wanna do is sit on ’em. Various incarnations of this stalemate manifested itself over the past three years. And after each one, Lovie and I were left to take solace in the aforementioned unlikelihood turned million-dollar-question answer. Why didn’t we ever do anything about it?
Because we thought it was all but impossible for Lovie to get pregnant.
Of course, that notion failed to take into account one undeniable fact. Since the day I was born, I’ve been flat-out getting shit done, y’all. PERIOD. It’s how I operate. So in that respect, I suppose it should have come as no surprise.
But it was a surprise, and though we had gotten our hands around it to a certain extent, I was still completely and totally freaked out as I sat in the waiting room alongside Caroline yesterday, nervously tweeting a rhetorical question to my tweeps. Surely there’s just one, right?
I, in fact, was not so sure. My gut told me that there were two in hers. Possibly even three.
“I think I’d actually almost be happy if there were only two,” I said to Lovie while we waited.
“You talk like there’s a litter inside me,” she uttered while casually flipping through a magazine. “I’ve gotten good with it. No matter how many,” she said.
“Even if there’s three?” I asked.
“Well, yeah, even if there’s three. I mean, what are we gonna do, you know?”
“Honey,” I started, “I don’t know what you’re gonna do if there’s three. But I know what I’m gonna do. But before I tell you, I want you to know that this was an incredibly difficult decision. That said, if you’re pregnant with triplets, I’d have no choice but to leave your ass.”
She handled it rather well, responding to my shocking announcement with a simple question. “Oh yeah? What if there’s just one?”
“One? You’re good. One and I’m stayin’.”
“Oooh. Lucky me. What about two?”
I looked out the window and pondered that one. Funny I didn’t have an answer, given that my gut had us pegged for twins.”Two would be a game-time decision,” I finally concluded.
And as fate would have it, a game-time decision that I won’t have to make. Because the ultrasound revealed just one gestational sac. (Praise the Lord.) Of course, there could always be two babies inside one sac via identical multiples, but there was only one yolk and, most importantly, only one heartbeat detected.
And as I saw the pitter-patter of our little baby’s heart via the grayscale image on the GE monitor, mine grew warm with love. For the first time since I went into shock shortly after pulling out of the Dunkin’ Donut’s parking lot, the reality of the situation finally dawned on me. I could tell from the look on Caroline’s face that it had dawned on her, too.
After the ultrasound, we raced like kids into the parking lot, both wearing a grin from ear to ear, one that only got bigger as we squeezed each other tight right next to our car. You know what I think now? I think that on some level, Caroline and I were way more open to having another baby than either of us ever realized.
God willing, in about 34 weeks from now, we’ll be doing just that. And I wish I could somehow convey just how fired up we are about it.
Happy Thanksgiving, y’all. This will be one of our most special ones, yet.