Wilder Hearts: Once Upon a Pregnancy

“I have a great mom,” he said. “And I can’t even imagine what I would have done or who I would have become without her.”

He still didn’t know the worst of it, Simone realized. He didn’t know why her relationship with her mother had been so bad. Or why it still was. And so she decided to tell him what she hadn’t told anyone else.

“When I was in the seventh grade, my mom told me to clean out the garage. And while I was moving some things around, I found a box of old photos and a diary. I knew her journal contained her private thoughts and that I shouldn’t read it. But I’d always wanted to know my mom better, to understand what made her tick.”

“And did you?”

“Yes. The early pages revealed a much different person than the one I’d known. She’d grown up in the sixties and had been happy and carefree. She used to write poetry. I guess you could say that she was…normal.”

“When did that change?”

“When she was seventeen. By the time I got to the end of the diary, to the place where she’d finally quit writing, it all fell into place.” Simone’s fingers tightened around Mike’s hands, then she slowly loosened them. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to cling to his touch or pull away.

His grip tightened, making the decision easier for her.

“My mom was raped, and I was the result.”

Mike didn’t respond, and she struggled not to peer at his face, not to try and read something in his expression. She’d just revealed the fact that she’d been the product of a violent act, not a loving one.

“My mom actually knew the guy and had gone out with him,” she added. “So it would be classified as a date rape now. But back in the late sixties, when it happened, she felt that it was all her fault. And because I look like my father…”

“Did you know him?” Mike asked.

“No.” She paused, thinking it best to explain. “Well, my mom never said that I resembled him, and I never asked. But I don’t look at all like her, so I can’t help believing that each time she looked at me she was reminded of him, of what he’d done to her. And for that reason, she inadvertently—and subconsciously—took her anger and resentment out on me.”

“You have no idea how sorry I am. For you, of course. But for her, too.”

“Needless to say, this isn’t something I’m proud of. But it’s had an adverse effect on any relationship I’ve had. And that’s why having a husband and children scares me to death. I don’t want to hurt the people who depend upon me the most.”

He seemed to ponder her words and her concern for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “No, that’s not going to happen. For the past couple of years, I’ve watched you with your patients, young and old. And I’ve even seen you interact with the dogs, even when they’re misbehaving. You’d never hurt anyone, intentionally or otherwise.”

“I wish I could believe you, Mike. But I’m damaged goods.”

He cupped her cheek. “You’ll never be able to convince me of that. It’s simply not true. I’m in love with you, Simone. And that’s not going to change.”

She wanted to believe him—she really did. But she couldn’t take the chance.

What if he was wrong? What if she couldn’t bond with the baby she was carrying?

Simone sat in the Walnut River OB/GYN waiting room, thumbing through a magazine and listening for her name to be called. She’d had blood drawn earlier, as ordered, and had already discussed insurance and financial obligations.

Now she was waiting for her first exam.

Last night, Mike had stayed at her house until she’d chased him off, telling him not to be late to his father’s birthday party. She could tell he was reluctant to leave her alone, but she’d insisted she was fine.

And she was. She’d been dealing with her mom and the past for years.

Several times over the course of his visit, she’d been tempted to tell him about the baby. But she’d decided to wait until after seeing Dr. Kipper. After all, other than a little morning sickness and an occasional bout of light-headedness, she still didn’t feel pregnant. Shouldn’t she wait for some kind of confirmation?

As she sat in the cheerful waiting room, with its cream-colored walls and the lavender-and green-stenciled border, she couldn’t seem to focus on any of the colorful ads or articles in her magazine.

Instead, she checked out the other patients, most of whom were visibly pregnant.

A blonde with a belly the size of a watermelon sat across from her, and she imagined herself big with child, her hands resting on her womb. Maybe she’d feel a little bump move by—a hand or a foot.

The dark-haired new mother to her left held a sleeping newborn in her arms. And, for a moment, Simone envisioned herself bringing the baby to an after-delivery checkup.

The door swung open, and someone else—a redhead—entered. She was about six months along and had a toddler with her. An older woman was only steps behind, and Simone suspected it was the grandmother.

Pregnant women should have the love and support of their mothers, which was another reason why Simone couldn’t imagine keeping her baby. The only person she had to rely on was herself. But that was her reality, and she’d learned to accept it.

She wished she could say that her revelation to Mike about the details surrounding her conception and her childhood had been therapeutic. In a way, she supposed it had been. At least it was out in the open now.

When the nurse, a fifty-something blonde with a warm smile, called Simone’s name from the doorway, she stood, leaving the magazine on the table next to her, and let the matronly woman lead her toward the exam rooms.

They stopped by the scale, then went through the usual routine of taking her blood pressure and checking her pulse. After being given a plastic cup and pointed in the direction of the restroom, she provided them with a urine sample.

It was an interesting twist to be a patient rather than a medical professional for a change. And she wasn’t sure that she liked it.

Next, she undressed and donned the backless hospital-style gown that everyone hated, then climbed up on the exam table. Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait long for Dr. Kipper to come in, accompanied by the nurse.

“I’ve gone over the lab work,” the tall, slender obstetrician said. “Everything looks good.”

The following pelvic exam was also normal.

“Since you’re over thirty-five,” Dr. Kipper said as he reached for her hand and helped her to a sitting position on the table, “I’m going to suggest an amniocentesis at sixteen weeks.”

He went on to explain the procedure and the risks, then answered all her questions.

She mentioned being light-headed a time or two and actually fainting once, although she hadn’t eaten since the night before. He told her that it wasn’t uncommon and suggested that she keep her blood sugar level steady by having more frequent and smaller meals. He also told her that a sudden change in blood pressure could also be the cause. And that she should change positions slowly.

“Let me know if the fainting or dizziness becomes frequent,” he said.

“All right. I will.”

He wrote something in her chart, then glanced up. “Are you taking any vitamins?”

“Just the generic variety I normally take.”

He dug through the cupboard and found a couple of packets. “I’ve got a sample of the prenatal vitamins I’d like you to start taking instead. I’ve got them in either pink or blue. Do you have a preference?”

“No, it doesn’t matter.” Yet thoughts of pink had her thinking about sugar and spice and everything nice, while blue brought on a reminder of frogs, snails and puppy-dog tails.

Would Mike have a preference?

No, she snapped at herself. Don’t even go there.

“I’d like to see you back in three weeks,” Dr. Kipper said.