Shopping for a CEO's Baby (Shopping for a Billionaire Series Book 16), стр. 12

So I take her hand in mine and smile at her.

“We, well... we're not sure,” Amanda says, eyes searching mine.

I kiss the back of her hand. “Whatever gives us two healthy babies and a healthy mom is all that matters.”

At the word “mom,” Amanda's head pulls back slightly.

Mom.

My wife is about to be a mom.

“Get the damn epidural,” the woman advises. “Don't be a hero. Besides, you probably won't have a choice.”

“What do you mean?” Amanda asks her.

Pointing to Amanda's belly, the woman's eyebrows go up. “Twins are a crapshoot. I've never had them, but my friends with twins had to have c-sections. The worst were the ones who labored all the way through vaginal deliveries and at the last minute, a baby turned and bam–they needed a c-section, too. Nothing like recovering from an episiotomy and abdominal surgery at the same time!”

Amanda squirms and hisses, “I need to pee so bad.”

“How about peeing on her to shut her up?” I mutter back.

“Karen?” a medical assistant calls out. The pregnant mom stands, her husband shuffling after her like a whipped dog.

“Good luck!” Karen chirps.

“She's like a pregnancy dementor,” Amanda grouses, moving to one side, one hip up, the other stretched at a funny angle as she lengthens her left leg as much as possible.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Flattening my bladder.”

“Flattening it?”

“Lengthening it. Making it stretch. Pick a term. I've got nine gallons of water in a five-gallon container and I'm ready to blow.”

Just then, the radio starts a new song. TLC's “Waterfalls.”

“COME ON!” Amanda shouts, staring at the speaker. “Are you kidding me?”

I start singing along to the first two lines and immediately regret it when she elbows my crotch.

“HEY!” I choke out. “If you want more kids, cut it out!”

“Elbow doesn't do enough damage anyhow,” says a pleasant woman's voice from behind us. We turn to find Dr. Rohrlian, a friendly woman we've met once before. Short brown hair, a smile like Mary Lou Retton, and keen eyes taking us in.

I leap up. Amanda moves slowly, but eventually stands.

“Let's get you in for the ultrasound before that bladder bursts. I'm so sorry we haven't found a better way to do this yet, Amanda, but we do our best with the technology we have.” She shakes my hand. “Good to see you again, Andrew.”

Her clasp is strong, hands dry and smooth. I wonder how many babies she's caught–or cut–out of mothers.

“Good to see you, too, Dr. Rohrlian.”

Amanda gives her a wan smile. “In case I pee on your shoes, please accept my apology in advance.”

“Wouldn't be the worst thing to land on these workhorses,” she answers, flexing a foot, showing off black Crocs. “That's why I wear shoes I can hose down.”

We walk down a long hallway. This practice is one of the biggest in Boston. When Amanda learned she was carrying twins, her options immediately narrowed. We agreed we wanted the best, of course, and everyone’s health was our priority. Amanda's the one whose body is experiencing everything, so I let her decide.

And fortunately, she decided on this ob-gyn practice with ten doctors, two certified nurse-midwives, and plenty of experience with multiples.

“Normally, one of the medical assistants does this,” I say to the doctor, a bit puzzled. “Doesn't Amanda need to weigh herself and do the urine test?”

“Not for this,” she answers evenly as she opens the door to a dark room with an exam bed and monitors all over the wall. “Ultrasounds are different. But you're right – normally the tech would come out to see you in, but I happened to be walking by and wanted to say hi again.”

I help Amanda up on the exam table as the ultrasound tech walks in. A bright smile greets us, the light from the hallway glinting on braces as she closes the door.

“Amanda? I'm Tanley,” she says, giving Amanda her hand. We take care of the pleasantries, the hum of machinery that's about to let me see our children a warm backdrop.

“You won't see me next time,” the doctor says as she starts to slip out, “so good luck to you both.”

“Why won't I see you next time?” Amanda asks, turning to the doctor with a perplexed look, an edge of panic in her eyes. Aha. This one's her favorite so far.

I knew she'd become attached.

“We try to rotate you through appointments with everyone on the team, and there are twelve of us. That way, whoever is on call when you deliver is someone you've met,” Dr. Rohrlian explains.

“We don't get to choose the doctor?” I ask, surprised.

“You can try. And if you do a scheduled c-section, you often can decide. But short of that, no,” she patiently explains, looking at both of us, careful to establish eye contact. “We rotate being on duty. If you have a favorite doctor or CNM, just try to time labor for when that person's on duty.”

“You can do that?” I ask.

A loud, infectious laugh fills the room. “If pregnant women could decide when to go into labor, our practice would be much easier to run, Andrew,” she says, grabbing my arm with affection.

Amanda laughs, then winces.

Instantly, the doctor gets serious, giving Tanley an arched brow. “Let's see those babies. Mama needs to pee.”

“Please don't say the word pee.”

Laughing at Amanda's please, the doctor slips out and Tanley takes over.

Excitement and dread blend in my blood, coursing through me with a glittering electricity as I look at the monitor. The black, white, and gray imaging is so old-fashioned; later, we know, we can see the baby in 3-D. For now, it looks like the old Commodore 64 machine my older brother, Terry, used to play with.

I'm about to see my babies.

My babies.

Children I'll soon raise, be responsible for, whose entire existence now rests in Amanda's hands. How she cares for her body completely holds them at her mercy.

The crushing weight of that hits me between the shoulder blades as the tech pulls the waistband of Amanda’s loose