Carrot Cake 9, Coffee 24: Nine
Title: Nine
Main Story: In The Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Carrot cake 9 (jump), coffee 24 (bubbles), FOTD (premorse: Pertaining to the end of something irregularly shortened, as if bitten or broken off.).
Word Count: 2320
Rating: PG-13, Clara swears.
Summary: Clara's pregnancy, start to finish.
Notes: This was a pocky chain. Ha. Links in to Fertility and Perfect.
Conception
"This is the most awkward position I have ever been in," Clara told the ceiling.
"What?" Aaron called, through the door. "Can I come in yet?"
"No!" she called back. "I'm not done! Sit! Stay!"
He laughed, then she heard his footsteps heading away from the door.
The irony of all this was that it might have been easier with him here. Certainly it would require less flexibility on her part. But she didn't ask Aaron to help her put her tampons in and she wasn't going to ask him to help with this. That would just be uncomfortable. For both of them.
Okay, okay. Hips tilted up, check. She'd stuck a pillow under them so she could just lie still when she'd finished. Needleless syringe prepared, check. She'd made Aaron do that. Door closed, bed comfortable... she was just stalling now.
Clara was starting to wish she'd gone to a gynocologist to do this. Then maybe she wouldn't be lying on her back on her bed with her legs spread and her underwear off. Maybe this would all be less awkward.
No, actually it would be more awkward because she would still be lying on her back with her legs spread and her underwear off, except there she'd be on an exam table in that damn scratchy paper dress with someone else staring at her vagina. Under flourescent lights, no less.
At least here, she got to wear pajamas.
Clara took a deep breath, and picked up the syringe.
--
One month
She paced back and forth frenetically, listening to the phone ring in her ear. Why wouldn't Aaron pick up? She was practically vibrating with excitement, her heart beating "yesyesyesyesyes" and he wouldn't pick up his goddamn cell phone.
It went to voicemail, for the third time. "Oh, come on!" she shouted at the handset. "Aaron, I know you're done for the day so call me already. Hurry up. I love you," she added, as an afterthought, then hung up.
She paced for a few more minutes, waiting for the phone to ring like a dateless senior two weeks before prom, then went to wash dishes. There was no way she could sit still, so she might as well get something productive done.
Naturally, the phone rang when she was elbow-deep in suds.
One broken plate and a puddle later, she snatched up the phone, said, breathlessly, "Aaron?" and didn't let him get past "Clara, what--" before shouting, "I'm pregnant!"
Half a beat of silence, because Aaron always needed a minute to get his head around news, and then he said, "Seriously? You sure?"
"My period's late," she said, and bounced on her toes. "I'm never late. I've got a doctor's appointment to confirm on Thursday but I'm pretty sure."
"Yes," he said. "That's fantastic! Can I come? To the appointment?"
Clara bounced on her toes again. "Sure! Oh my God I'm pregnant! Finally!"
Aaron laughed. "No more syringes."
"No more goddamn syringes," she agreed with feeling, and he laughed again.
--
Two months
Ethan bent over and squinted at her belly under the table. "Huh," he said. "I think I can see it."
"No, you can't," Clara said, and bit the head off an animal cracker. Trust her brother to know exactly when she was feeling bloated.
"Seriously," he said, and leaned back up. "There's a bump. It's been a while since I've seen you but I don't remember a bump."
She glared at him. "Ethan, I'm barely eight weeks pregnant. Most women don't obviously show until they're four or five months along."
"Most women," he said, "are not you, and you are showing."
"Shut up." Clara bit the head off another animal cracker, pointedly. "The baby isn't even an inch long," she said, around the head. "It's really not taking up that much space." Yet.
Ethan grinned that peculiar grin of his that always made Clara long to punch him. "Been eating for two?"
She kicked him. "Shut up. Or I'll end you. I mean it."
"Ooh," he said, and clasped his hands under his chin in an exaggerated parody of delight. "Can we go shopping for maternity clothes together? I know this adorable place..."
Clara threw a saltshaker at him.
He ducked, then grinned a much less annoying grin. "Sorry. You're just such an easy target."
"Because I'm pregnant and hormonal, you dumbass," Clara said. "Now pick up the saltshaker and change the subject, or I'm telling Dad on you."
"Ooh, I'm so scared," Ethan said, but he changed the subject.
--
Three months
"Okay, let's have a look."
Clara kept herself from bouncing on the seat with an extreme effort of will. Ultrasounds unfortunately required one to stay still. But she was going to see her baby, her baby, for the first time, and judging from Aaron's grip on her hand, he was just as excited.
The technican, a nice young lady named Jill Okonkwo, grinned at them. "Nice to see someone so happy about it," she said. "Hang on, this'll be cold."
"We've been trying for a while," Aaron said dryly.
"I'm so fucking glad it worked this time," Clara added, thinking of the goddamn syringes.
Aaron laughed, squeezed her hand. "You did the hard part, babe."
Jill gave them both a confused look, but didn't comment, which was fortunate, because Clara didn't feel like explaining. Instead, she squirted the gel on Clara's belly, then pressed down on the transducer down on her abdomen. "So how far along are you?" she asked, moving it around. "Eighteen weeks?"
"Twelve," Clara replied, not taking her eyes off the screen. Not that she could make anything out.
Jill paused. "Twelve weeks?" she asked, and then, puzzlingly, "Do twins run in your family?"
Clara looked away from the screen long enough to blink at her. "Yes. My father and my aunt, my cousins, and my grandmother and great-aunt are all twins. Why?"
"Because it looks like you've got yourself a pair," Jill said, and pointed to the screen. "Here and here; two placentas. Congratulations."
Holy... shit.
--
Four months
They were moving around, strange little flutters in her abdomen, like someone had released a half-dozen butterflies in there. It was an extremely odd feeling. Clara hoped she never got used to it.
She spread a hand over her belly as she worked. It was surprising how fast she had gotten used to thinking "them" instead of "it." Aaron was still having a little trouble with that, and the less said about their siblings, the better. But she'd gotten it right away, like she'd always known. Two babies. Twins ran in the Hawkins family.
Thanks, Dad.
She should call her father. Tell him that they'd started moving. She knew about the baby he and her mother had lost before she was born; he'd want to know that her twins were okay. That she was okay.
One of them fluttered under her hand. She smiled. Hello, baby.
"Clara!"
She jumped, and realized that a) she hadn't read a word of the adoption application she was supposed to be processing and b) judging from the tone of Lidia's voice, she hadn't been paying attention for a while. "Sorry," she said. "What?"
"I asked if you're done with that yet," Lidia said. "I have to interview the prospies tomorrow and I'd like to read it over."
"Uh, sure," Clara lied, and handed it over. "Just give it back to me when you're done?"
"Sure," Lidia said, and left, with a suspicious look.
Clara spread her hands over her abdomen again, and drifted off.
--
Five months
Clara slammed into the dressing room, announced, "I hate every-fucking-one," and plopped down on the little bench meant for clothes. Right on top of Ivy's clothes, as it happened, but Ivy wasn't actually naked at the moment and her feet hurt, so screw it.
Ivy, midway into an electric orange dress, gave her an alarmed look. "What's wrong?"
"The guy out front patted my belly," Clara said. "Take that off, it's burning my retinas."
"You're sweet when you're pissed," Ivy said.
"It makes you look like a two-bit hooker imitating Victoria Beckham," Clara said. "Want me to get sweeter?"
Ivy grinned, and slid the dress off. It was vinyl, for God's sake. "Chill, I only wanted to see how terrible it looked. So that's, what, the third belly-groper today?"
"Fourth," Clara said, venom in her voice. "One of these days I'm going to kill them all."
"Yet another reason to adopt," Ivy said. "Although-- and I hope you'll take this in the spirit it's meant-- your breasts are fantastic."
Clara smiled, a little reluctantly. "Assuming you meant it as my sister-in-law expressing aesthetic appreciation, thanks. They are rather nice. But seriously, there will be death."
"If the police ask," Ivy said, reaching for the next dress, which, thank God, was a deep forest green, "I'll back up your alibi. Just warn me first."
"That's kind of you," Clara said. "Excuse me, I'm going to burn that orange thing."
"Use the groper for kindling," Ivy called after her, and she laughed.
--
Six months
"Okay," Aaron said, putting on his glasses. Clara, who loved the way they made him look, edged closer and was rewarded with an arm around her shoulders. "So we have twin one," he continued, "and twin two." He patted the left and right sides of her belly. "Twin one is a boy and twin two is a girl. Are you sure we can't just call them One and Two?"
"Twin one is a girl and twin two is a boy," Clara corrected, "and yes, I'm sure. Unless you want to name them Una and... I don't know, Dos."
"Hmm," Aaron said thoughtfully. "Una Kendall, doesn't sound too bad..."
Clara cracked up, so her elbow didn't have the usual force.
"Kidding," he said, grinning broadly. "For real, I was thinking things that have a lot of nicknames, and hopefully at least one mildly embarrassing one. And no middle names. I don't think my baby sister's forgiven my dad for "Rose" yet."
"Heh," Clara said. "I don't blame her." She hesitated a moment, then said, "Aaron, I was thinking... our daughter. Could we name her Lynne? Not her first name, I don't think, it's not very nicknameable, but her middle name at least. Please?"
"After your mother?" Aaron asked. "Sure, don't see why not. Not like my mom'll be horribly offended or anything. She hates her name."
"Okay," she said, and leaned against him. "Okay. That was all I really wanted."
He squeezed her shoulders, and kissed her temple. "Happy to oblige."
--
Seven months
Clara was starting to get very sick of the ceiling in her bedroom.
Aaron came in and dropped full-length onto the bed next to her. "I hate my boss," he said, into the covers.
"At least you're not on bedrest," she muttered, and poked his shoulder. "Turn over, I can't hear you."
Obligingly, he rolled over, then scooted up and plastered himself against her side, resting his head on her shoulder. "I hate my boss," he said. "It's not the kids, the kids are great. But I hate my boss. I should've listened to my stepmom."
"Which time? When she said teaching doesn't pay or when she said you'd hate the administration?"
"The second time," Aaron said. "I already knew the first. But enough about me, how was your day?"
"Boring," she said. "Endless and boring. Can I not be pregnant anymore?"
He snorted into her shoulder. "You were the one who wanted to be pregnant. Bedrest not fun?"
"Aaron," Clara said, patiently. "I love you. I do. But I'm bored and I'm fat and I swear to God if you don't entertain me I'm going to chew my own arm off."
He gave her a sympathetic look. "That bad?"
"Oh my God, yes."
"Roll over," he said, "and I'll give you a backrub. Then I'll kidnap you and carry you off to my dad's for dinner. Literally carry you so Doctor Lane won't flip. Sound good?"
"Have I mentioned that I love you lately?" Clara asked, and rolled over.
--
Eight months
"Okay, no, this is the most awkward situation I've ever been in," Clara said, and yelped when another contraction hit.
"What was that?" Aaron asked. "Hey, you're doing fine. Doctor Lane just gave me a thumbs-up."
"You're not doing any work," she gritted out, ignoring his question. "I hate this, I hate this, why did I want to do this?"
"You tell me," Aaron said, dryly, but he was clutching her hand like a lifeline.
She ignored him again, and stared up at the bright white flourescent lights. She was supposed to be having a C-section. It was scheduled for thirty-four weeks into the pregnancy-- a week from today. But she'd been having false contractions for two weeks so she hadn't realized these were real until she was about six centimeters dilated and Doctor Lane said they were just going to go and right now she just wanted to be done. Finished. "Am I done yet?"
"Almost," Doctor Lane said, soothingly. "I've got a head here."
"A head's good," Clara said, panting. "Let's take that and go home."
Doctor Lane chuckled, damn her, then said, "Whoops! Nurse!"
"Not a good thing to hear!" Clara wailed.
Aaron craned his neck over, then said, "It's fine. It's Marianne. You're doing fine."
"One down!" Doctor Lane chirped. Clara wanted to strangle her.
The rest of it was a blur. Pain, and Aaron saying things, and Doctor Lane being cheerful, damn it, and nurses rushing around and that damned flourescent light. And then all of a sudden she was lying flat on her back on an exam table, legs spread, and some stranger staring at her vagina, but more importantly her arms were full of babies, and she couldn't breathe, she loved them so much. Her babies.
"Hi, Mom," Aaron said, and she beamed.
Main Story: In The Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Carrot cake 9 (jump), coffee 24 (bubbles), FOTD (premorse: Pertaining to the end of something irregularly shortened, as if bitten or broken off.).
Word Count: 2320
Rating: PG-13, Clara swears.
Summary: Clara's pregnancy, start to finish.
Notes: This was a pocky chain. Ha. Links in to Fertility and Perfect.
Conception
"This is the most awkward position I have ever been in," Clara told the ceiling.
"What?" Aaron called, through the door. "Can I come in yet?"
"No!" she called back. "I'm not done! Sit! Stay!"
He laughed, then she heard his footsteps heading away from the door.
The irony of all this was that it might have been easier with him here. Certainly it would require less flexibility on her part. But she didn't ask Aaron to help her put her tampons in and she wasn't going to ask him to help with this. That would just be uncomfortable. For both of them.
Okay, okay. Hips tilted up, check. She'd stuck a pillow under them so she could just lie still when she'd finished. Needleless syringe prepared, check. She'd made Aaron do that. Door closed, bed comfortable... she was just stalling now.
Clara was starting to wish she'd gone to a gynocologist to do this. Then maybe she wouldn't be lying on her back on her bed with her legs spread and her underwear off. Maybe this would all be less awkward.
No, actually it would be more awkward because she would still be lying on her back with her legs spread and her underwear off, except there she'd be on an exam table in that damn scratchy paper dress with someone else staring at her vagina. Under flourescent lights, no less.
At least here, she got to wear pajamas.
Clara took a deep breath, and picked up the syringe.
--
One month
She paced back and forth frenetically, listening to the phone ring in her ear. Why wouldn't Aaron pick up? She was practically vibrating with excitement, her heart beating "yesyesyesyesyes" and he wouldn't pick up his goddamn cell phone.
It went to voicemail, for the third time. "Oh, come on!" she shouted at the handset. "Aaron, I know you're done for the day so call me already. Hurry up. I love you," she added, as an afterthought, then hung up.
She paced for a few more minutes, waiting for the phone to ring like a dateless senior two weeks before prom, then went to wash dishes. There was no way she could sit still, so she might as well get something productive done.
Naturally, the phone rang when she was elbow-deep in suds.
One broken plate and a puddle later, she snatched up the phone, said, breathlessly, "Aaron?" and didn't let him get past "Clara, what--" before shouting, "I'm pregnant!"
Half a beat of silence, because Aaron always needed a minute to get his head around news, and then he said, "Seriously? You sure?"
"My period's late," she said, and bounced on her toes. "I'm never late. I've got a doctor's appointment to confirm on Thursday but I'm pretty sure."
"Yes," he said. "That's fantastic! Can I come? To the appointment?"
Clara bounced on her toes again. "Sure! Oh my God I'm pregnant! Finally!"
Aaron laughed. "No more syringes."
"No more goddamn syringes," she agreed with feeling, and he laughed again.
--
Two months
Ethan bent over and squinted at her belly under the table. "Huh," he said. "I think I can see it."
"No, you can't," Clara said, and bit the head off an animal cracker. Trust her brother to know exactly when she was feeling bloated.
"Seriously," he said, and leaned back up. "There's a bump. It's been a while since I've seen you but I don't remember a bump."
She glared at him. "Ethan, I'm barely eight weeks pregnant. Most women don't obviously show until they're four or five months along."
"Most women," he said, "are not you, and you are showing."
"Shut up." Clara bit the head off another animal cracker, pointedly. "The baby isn't even an inch long," she said, around the head. "It's really not taking up that much space." Yet.
Ethan grinned that peculiar grin of his that always made Clara long to punch him. "Been eating for two?"
She kicked him. "Shut up. Or I'll end you. I mean it."
"Ooh," he said, and clasped his hands under his chin in an exaggerated parody of delight. "Can we go shopping for maternity clothes together? I know this adorable place..."
Clara threw a saltshaker at him.
He ducked, then grinned a much less annoying grin. "Sorry. You're just such an easy target."
"Because I'm pregnant and hormonal, you dumbass," Clara said. "Now pick up the saltshaker and change the subject, or I'm telling Dad on you."
"Ooh, I'm so scared," Ethan said, but he changed the subject.
--
Three months
"Okay, let's have a look."
Clara kept herself from bouncing on the seat with an extreme effort of will. Ultrasounds unfortunately required one to stay still. But she was going to see her baby, her baby, for the first time, and judging from Aaron's grip on her hand, he was just as excited.
The technican, a nice young lady named Jill Okonkwo, grinned at them. "Nice to see someone so happy about it," she said. "Hang on, this'll be cold."
"We've been trying for a while," Aaron said dryly.
"I'm so fucking glad it worked this time," Clara added, thinking of the goddamn syringes.
Aaron laughed, squeezed her hand. "You did the hard part, babe."
Jill gave them both a confused look, but didn't comment, which was fortunate, because Clara didn't feel like explaining. Instead, she squirted the gel on Clara's belly, then pressed down on the transducer down on her abdomen. "So how far along are you?" she asked, moving it around. "Eighteen weeks?"
"Twelve," Clara replied, not taking her eyes off the screen. Not that she could make anything out.
Jill paused. "Twelve weeks?" she asked, and then, puzzlingly, "Do twins run in your family?"
Clara looked away from the screen long enough to blink at her. "Yes. My father and my aunt, my cousins, and my grandmother and great-aunt are all twins. Why?"
"Because it looks like you've got yourself a pair," Jill said, and pointed to the screen. "Here and here; two placentas. Congratulations."
Holy... shit.
--
Four months
They were moving around, strange little flutters in her abdomen, like someone had released a half-dozen butterflies in there. It was an extremely odd feeling. Clara hoped she never got used to it.
She spread a hand over her belly as she worked. It was surprising how fast she had gotten used to thinking "them" instead of "it." Aaron was still having a little trouble with that, and the less said about their siblings, the better. But she'd gotten it right away, like she'd always known. Two babies. Twins ran in the Hawkins family.
Thanks, Dad.
She should call her father. Tell him that they'd started moving. She knew about the baby he and her mother had lost before she was born; he'd want to know that her twins were okay. That she was okay.
One of them fluttered under her hand. She smiled. Hello, baby.
"Clara!"
She jumped, and realized that a) she hadn't read a word of the adoption application she was supposed to be processing and b) judging from the tone of Lidia's voice, she hadn't been paying attention for a while. "Sorry," she said. "What?"
"I asked if you're done with that yet," Lidia said. "I have to interview the prospies tomorrow and I'd like to read it over."
"Uh, sure," Clara lied, and handed it over. "Just give it back to me when you're done?"
"Sure," Lidia said, and left, with a suspicious look.
Clara spread her hands over her abdomen again, and drifted off.
--
Five months
Clara slammed into the dressing room, announced, "I hate every-fucking-one," and plopped down on the little bench meant for clothes. Right on top of Ivy's clothes, as it happened, but Ivy wasn't actually naked at the moment and her feet hurt, so screw it.
Ivy, midway into an electric orange dress, gave her an alarmed look. "What's wrong?"
"The guy out front patted my belly," Clara said. "Take that off, it's burning my retinas."
"You're sweet when you're pissed," Ivy said.
"It makes you look like a two-bit hooker imitating Victoria Beckham," Clara said. "Want me to get sweeter?"
Ivy grinned, and slid the dress off. It was vinyl, for God's sake. "Chill, I only wanted to see how terrible it looked. So that's, what, the third belly-groper today?"
"Fourth," Clara said, venom in her voice. "One of these days I'm going to kill them all."
"Yet another reason to adopt," Ivy said. "Although-- and I hope you'll take this in the spirit it's meant-- your breasts are fantastic."
Clara smiled, a little reluctantly. "Assuming you meant it as my sister-in-law expressing aesthetic appreciation, thanks. They are rather nice. But seriously, there will be death."
"If the police ask," Ivy said, reaching for the next dress, which, thank God, was a deep forest green, "I'll back up your alibi. Just warn me first."
"That's kind of you," Clara said. "Excuse me, I'm going to burn that orange thing."
"Use the groper for kindling," Ivy called after her, and she laughed.
--
Six months
"Okay," Aaron said, putting on his glasses. Clara, who loved the way they made him look, edged closer and was rewarded with an arm around her shoulders. "So we have twin one," he continued, "and twin two." He patted the left and right sides of her belly. "Twin one is a boy and twin two is a girl. Are you sure we can't just call them One and Two?"
"Twin one is a girl and twin two is a boy," Clara corrected, "and yes, I'm sure. Unless you want to name them Una and... I don't know, Dos."
"Hmm," Aaron said thoughtfully. "Una Kendall, doesn't sound too bad..."
Clara cracked up, so her elbow didn't have the usual force.
"Kidding," he said, grinning broadly. "For real, I was thinking things that have a lot of nicknames, and hopefully at least one mildly embarrassing one. And no middle names. I don't think my baby sister's forgiven my dad for "Rose" yet."
"Heh," Clara said. "I don't blame her." She hesitated a moment, then said, "Aaron, I was thinking... our daughter. Could we name her Lynne? Not her first name, I don't think, it's not very nicknameable, but her middle name at least. Please?"
"After your mother?" Aaron asked. "Sure, don't see why not. Not like my mom'll be horribly offended or anything. She hates her name."
"Okay," she said, and leaned against him. "Okay. That was all I really wanted."
He squeezed her shoulders, and kissed her temple. "Happy to oblige."
--
Seven months
Clara was starting to get very sick of the ceiling in her bedroom.
Aaron came in and dropped full-length onto the bed next to her. "I hate my boss," he said, into the covers.
"At least you're not on bedrest," she muttered, and poked his shoulder. "Turn over, I can't hear you."
Obligingly, he rolled over, then scooted up and plastered himself against her side, resting his head on her shoulder. "I hate my boss," he said. "It's not the kids, the kids are great. But I hate my boss. I should've listened to my stepmom."
"Which time? When she said teaching doesn't pay or when she said you'd hate the administration?"
"The second time," Aaron said. "I already knew the first. But enough about me, how was your day?"
"Boring," she said. "Endless and boring. Can I not be pregnant anymore?"
He snorted into her shoulder. "You were the one who wanted to be pregnant. Bedrest not fun?"
"Aaron," Clara said, patiently. "I love you. I do. But I'm bored and I'm fat and I swear to God if you don't entertain me I'm going to chew my own arm off."
He gave her a sympathetic look. "That bad?"
"Oh my God, yes."
"Roll over," he said, "and I'll give you a backrub. Then I'll kidnap you and carry you off to my dad's for dinner. Literally carry you so Doctor Lane won't flip. Sound good?"
"Have I mentioned that I love you lately?" Clara asked, and rolled over.
--
Eight months
"Okay, no, this is the most awkward situation I've ever been in," Clara said, and yelped when another contraction hit.
"What was that?" Aaron asked. "Hey, you're doing fine. Doctor Lane just gave me a thumbs-up."
"You're not doing any work," she gritted out, ignoring his question. "I hate this, I hate this, why did I want to do this?"
"You tell me," Aaron said, dryly, but he was clutching her hand like a lifeline.
She ignored him again, and stared up at the bright white flourescent lights. She was supposed to be having a C-section. It was scheduled for thirty-four weeks into the pregnancy-- a week from today. But she'd been having false contractions for two weeks so she hadn't realized these were real until she was about six centimeters dilated and Doctor Lane said they were just going to go and right now she just wanted to be done. Finished. "Am I done yet?"
"Almost," Doctor Lane said, soothingly. "I've got a head here."
"A head's good," Clara said, panting. "Let's take that and go home."
Doctor Lane chuckled, damn her, then said, "Whoops! Nurse!"
"Not a good thing to hear!" Clara wailed.
Aaron craned his neck over, then said, "It's fine. It's Marianne. You're doing fine."
"One down!" Doctor Lane chirped. Clara wanted to strangle her.
The rest of it was a blur. Pain, and Aaron saying things, and Doctor Lane being cheerful, damn it, and nurses rushing around and that damned flourescent light. And then all of a sudden she was lying flat on her back on an exam table, legs spread, and some stranger staring at her vagina, but more importantly her arms were full of babies, and she couldn't breathe, she loved them so much. Her babies.
"Hi, Mom," Aaron said, and she beamed.