Marital Bitch (Men with Badges) - By Jc Emery Page 0,99
my baby being picked on by the kids who only have one head and I resolve to tell my baby that he or she… or them… are just so special because they have two heads. And you know what they say about that: two heads are better than one.
"My baby has two heads!" I point at the screen and cry out. Just because I've decided to make sure my two-headed baby is loved beyond comprehension doesn't mean the idea of raising a two-headed baby doesn't scare the crap out of me. At least my two-headed baby's daddy carries a gun. That ought to resolve some of the teasing.
"Mrs. Patrick, please calm down," Dr. Roth smiles. She reminds me that there are risks associated with this pregnancy for me as well. She's all calm and collected like two-headed babies are a dime a dozen. Bitch. "You do see two heads, but look at this," she says. I follow her finger as it traces a line on the screen I can hardly distinguish. There's definitely two beans.
"Two heart beats, two tiny, growing little bodies," she concludes and stares at us like we're supposed to finish that for her. My brain is, unfortunately, still stuck on the whole two-headed baby thing.
"Two?" Brad asks and I'm snapped out of my fantasies of clothes shopping for my extra special child and the difficulties such a task would include. I don't think Sears carries clothing for two-headed babies.
"Two," Dr. Roth nods and smiles. Two?
Holy shit.
Two.
"So, my baby doesn't have two heads?" I ask in disbelief. Brad laughs and kisses my forehead. Twins run in both of our families, so this wasn’t an impossibility. We spend a few moments letting that sink in. I'm not worried about two. Not at all. I'm just happy to have a baby at all. Having two is a bonus.
"This is fucking awesome," Brad says, and then apologizes to Dr. Roth. He’s been working on his language in preparation for the baby. Babies.
He's still grinning but there's a bit of water in his eyes. "Can we tell what they are?" Always the eloquent one.
"Well, this one," Dr. Roth continues to move her finger across the screen, "is a boy."
Brad cheers loudly. I stare up at him because as goofy and ridiculous as he is, I can't wait to have a little boy running around just like him. But God help me, Brad has a big head. I hope our baby boy's head is a little smaller at birth or my vagina is in serious trouble.
"Are they both boys?" I ask, half giddy and half terrified at the idea. I do have an older brother, so I remember what little boys are like. Two of them could set fire to the entire city in a matter of minutes; especially Brad's boys.
"It seems baby number 2 is being shy today. I can't make out its gender." Dr. Roth tells us that we can try again at the next ultrasound. So for today we'll leave the ultrasound knowing that baby number one is a little boy (although Dr. Roth says that both are quite large for twins at their current gestation and seem to be very healthy); and we'll just have to wait until the next time to find out if he has a brother or a sister.
AS THE WEEKS progress and I increase in size, I've taken to staying home more. Not that I have a ton of reasons to leave the house. As it turns out, my quitting my job was the "best thing [I] ever did" according to Brad. In the months that have passed since then, I have often wondered if I'll ever go back to working at a firm. For now, I have Brad’s internship keeping me busy. As it turns out, there’s a lot more red-tape involved than I thought, but my dad has been guiding me through the process of who to talk to and how. Hopefully by this time next year we’ll have the first round of at-risk kids interning at the station and in line to receive scholarships to the academy if they qualify. Lately I’ve been hounding the Red Sox to get involved, but haven’t gotten to speak to the right people yet.
The internship takes up a good bit of time, but I have been doing plenty of lying around, too. Sometimes I even lay around at Darla and James’s house with the kids. I mean, I do some things around the house: the laundry,