Her Christmas Baby Bump

“You mean the baby’s coming? It’s time?”

“It’s time. I’m putting a heart-rate monitor around your belly, Kate, so we can see how baby is doing during delivery,” Hope said as she strapped it on, praying this final stage went a lot more smoothly and quickly than the previous hours. “We need to get pushing. Can you give me a push next time you feel a contraction? I know you aren’t feeling them as strongly because of your epidural, but tell me when you do.”

“I...I’m having one,” she said, sitting up straighter and looking alert now.

“Then give me a push. That’s it. Well done. Again.” Hope kept giving her gentle encouragement and checking her progress, pleased the fetal monitor showed the baby’s heart rate was normal. Maybe after the long ordeal, this delivery really would be quick and easy. “Wonderful! Nice job.”

Kate moaned and pushed as her husband clutched her hand. “Breathe now, love. Breathe.”

“Yes, Kate,” Hope said. “Take a breath between contractions. Puff, puff, puff. Then during a push, tuck your chin down, hold your breath and give it all you’ve got.”

Kate worked hard, and Hope kept her tone soothing and encouraging, knowing if she exuded a relaxed composure it helped the mother in labor stay composed, too. After only a few more contractions, the top of baby’s head was suddenly there, visible, and Hope sent mum another huge grin. “She’s crowning! Almost here, Kate. Give me a push. You’re doing a great job. Okay, I’ve got her head. One more push now. One more. Yes! You did it!” She wrapped her hands around the baby’s shoulders and helped her slide out into her new world.

Hope’s heart leaped into her throat as she held the slippery infant. No matter how many times she did this, the wonder of it, the miracle, hit her every single time, filling her chest with elation.

“Here she is, Mum! Perfect and beautiful. Congratulations.” She laid the infant on Kate’s chest, letting them marvel over their new little one for just a moment. “You were wonderful, even after being so tired. I’m so proud of you!”

Kate held her baby close, murmuring and cooing, and Hope hated to disturb the sweet moment. “I’m sorry, but I need to take her, as we don’t want her to get chilled. We’ll get her cleaned up and warm, then I promise I’ll have her back to you in a jiffy.”

As she lifted the baby from her mother’s chest and placed her on the cloth her assistant held, Hope saw tears sliding down the new father’s cheeks as he leaned down to kiss his wife.

A pang of something sharp stabbed at Hope’s heart. Regret, maybe, that she’d never experience that? That her own baby, if she was blessed with one soon, wouldn’t have a daddy who wept at its birth and was there as he or she grew up? And all because of Hope’s physical and emotional inadequacies?

She sucked in a calming breath and attended to Kate as the nurse assistant placed the baby in the bassinet beneath the heat lamp. She rubbed her all over until she was clean and rosy, slid a little knit cap onto her tiny head, then swaddled her in blankets. Hope lifted the infant into her arms, pausing for a moment before taking her to her daddy.

Serious blue-gray eyes stared up at her with a frown furrowing her tiny brows, as though she was asking Hope where in the world she was and why she was there. As Hope looked at the tiny, vulnerable new life she pictured her very own baby in her arms. The thought sent a thrill surging through her veins, warring with an icy fear that seemed to freeze her blood at the very same time.

She was close, so close, to that dream if she went through with her plans. But would her own child look to her with those same questions in its eyes? Who am I, and why am I here? Would she be able to answer, You’re here because I love you? Would she be the kind of mother she wanted to be?

She tore her gaze from the precious one staring accusingly at her and took the baby to her parents, placing her gently into her father’s arms.

“Your new daughter. Congratulations again.”

Both stared at their newborn in awe as Hope swiped her cold hands down her scrubs. Terrifying doubt choked her. Would making a baby of her own be the right decision, or would it be a horrible mistake?

She fiercely shook off the sudden and disturbing doubts. She’d wanted a baby forever. Adored babies. Adored children, too. She was running out of time for that dream to come true, and despite her history, despite what her old boyfriend had said, there was no reason on earth to fear that she might not be capable of being the loving mother she so wanted to be.

Prayed she could be. Would be.

“She’s so beautiful.” Kate’s husband looked at his wife. “She looks like you, I think.”

Kate laughed. “Am I that pink and puffy right now? Probably, yes.” She reached to stroke the baby’s cheek, her voice becoming a whisper. “You were an awful lot of effort, but you were worth it, sweetest one.”

She and her husband shared a long, intimate smile, and Hope felt that irritating pang jab her again. What was wrong with her? Why the sudden sadness over not having a man in her life, when she clearly had never wanted one? Why the ridiculous doubt when she’d been happy and confident before?

“Have you picked out a name for her?” Hope asked, busying herself with the final things that needed to be done for Kate post-delivery. Distracting herself with small talk was sure to banish these peculiar and unwelcome feelings swirling around her belly.

“Nine months didn’t seem like long enough to decide,” Kate said with a grin. “But we finally whittled it down to either Emily or Rachel.”

“I’m fond of the more traditional names, and those are both very pretty.”

“Here, love, you hold her for a bit.” Her husband placed the baby in Kate’s arms and stared at the infant with his brows creased. “She’s...she looks like a—”

“Rachel,” they both said simultaneously, then laughed.

“Perfect,” Hope said, her throat absurdly clogging up at this scene that could have come straight from a chick flick. Lord, you’d think she hadn’t delivered hundreds of babies in her career. Or that she’d already received the upcoming hormone injections, with these kinds of silly emotions pinging all over the place.

Probably should buy some stock in a handkerchief company right now. If this kept up, for the next nine months she’d be sobbing all over her patients with every healthy delivery.

“You’re all set now, Kate.” She stripped off her gloves and managed to smile at the giddy new parents. “I’ll be back in a bit to see how you’re doing.”

Hope headed down the hospital corridor to write up her notes on Kate and baby Rachel and glanced at her watch, glad to see her shift was almost over. And for once her Friday night would be filled with something more than just a casual dinner with friends.

Tonight was the big gala fund-raiser organized by one of the hunkiest doctors at Cambridge Royal Hospital. Not only was the man absurdly good-looking, Aaron Cartwright apparently cared about children, too, creating the foundation that promoted adoption in and around Cambridge. Plus, he’d been nice enough to invite several midwives and obstetricians from the hospital to share a few adoption stories their patients had experienced, knowing some financial donors might be interested in hearing them.

Hope had long admired Aaron Cartwright from afar, starting the very first day she’d spotted him in the hospital three years ago, stopping mid-step to do a double take at the man. He might be a man with a bit of a playboy reputation, but who cared? A woman didn’t have to be in the market for a relationship to enjoy looking at a heartthrob.

Tonight she’d finally get to meet the dreamy doc, who half the women in the hospital swooned over. While enjoying champagne and yummy food and dancing, before the start of her new life.

The bounce began to come back to her step as she walked into her office. What could possibly be a more perfect Friday-night distraction to get her mind back on the right track?

* * *

“You’re going to be late if you don’t finish up soon.”

Aaron Cartwright looked up from the pamphlets he’d been grabbing from a drawer outside an exam room to see Sue Calloway frowning at him. Her lips were pursed and her hands held several clothes hangers filled with his tux, shirt, bow tie and cummerbund. “Isn’t organizing my wardrobe outside an office manager’s job description?”

“Nothing’s outside my job description and you know it,” she said. “You’ve been with your patients almost an hour already, and everyone’s going to be wondering where you are.”

“No one will be wondering about me. They’ll all be happily eating and drinking and won’t even notice when I show up.” He gently tapped the top of her head with the brochures. “Don’t worry, though, we’re almost done. This couple is nervous, and need a little more TLC before they’re ready to go home. I’m giving them loads of stuff to read to keep them occupied, even though I already gave them plenty.”

“When is their IVF procedure scheduled?”

“This Tuesday. And now I’m going back in there, unless you want to give me more grief and make me even later.”

“Well, hurry, then,” she said in a testy voice, her twinkling eyes belying her tone. “I’d give you a little shove to get you going if I could, except my arms aren’t free. Don’t keep me standing here holding your finery forever.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he headed back into the room. Not too many other doctors were lucky enough to have someone like Sue to run the office—and his schedule—like a drill sergeant.

The anxious expressions on the couple sitting in the consulting room showed Aaron he hadn’t alleviated their worries. But with the latest advances in fertility techniques and a little luck, the procedure he’d proposed could work for them.

He sat and put on his most reassuring smile, handing them the additional brochures on in vitro fertilization and the newest technique he was recommending. “I understand this has been a stressful and difficult struggle for both of you, but now that we know exactly what’s going on there’s a better than good chance you’ll be able to conceive.”

“How many times have you done this ICSI procedure, Dr. Cartwright?” John Walters asked.

“More times than I can count. And the success rate of ICSI is a solid ninety percent. In fact, my success rate has been even higher than that, if I can toot my own horn a little.” He smiled again. “As I told you before, I’m a big believer in this procedure. Under circumstances like yours, it’s much better than the shotgun approach of traditional IVF.”

John’s lips were pressed into a grim line, and Aaron reached to squeeze his shoulder. Infertility issues were hard on everyone, but many men had a more difficult time dealing with it when it was due to their physical issues, as opposed to their wives’. As though it made someone less of a man, which of course it didn’t. There were all too many men who made babies only to abandon them, and plenty of others who were donors but in no way could be considered fathers. Whose children would never know where they came from.