Today was a good day. I have had the privilege to be in attendance at some lovely occasions, full of light and love—Tammy and Lamarr’s wedding comes to mind, of course. But what happened today, though simpler, rivals even that beautiful day in its peace and hope.
Grace’s pregnancy has reached its halfway point. She can feel the baby as more than just a flutter and calls it Truman. This was a suggestion of her father’s which made everyone laugh—I suppose Truman Newman would be a bit absurd. Nevertheless, despite Grace’s belief that the baby is a girl, the silly nickname has stuck. Grace feels very well—her energy is high, and she is suffering few negative symptoms. I suspect that Brid is the reason for that. She denies it, as Grace is not officially her charge, but she cannot lie to me.
As for Grace’s emotional state, though she has begun to see joy ahead with this, she has also felt burdened by it, and as yet the happiness has not outweighed the stress. But I believe finally today, we have reached a turning point.
She went to the doctor today for a sonogram, and this time Con went with her. It is the first time they have gone together—he has offered to come along to her checkups before and Grace has always said no, but this is a special occasion. Today they find out the sex of the child. To be honest, I find it strange that so much hinges on the physical, but I am learning that new parents—and all the extended family, as well—are always so excited to meet the child that they will take any chance to speculate on who they will be. Whether or not that makes it harder to love the child as they turn out to be is a conversation for another time.
Con was waiting for her, appropriately, in the waiting room. It is a place designed for inactivity, and he looked particularly at odds, but then, he looks that way quite often now. Con is still trying to figure out where he is in his life. His failure at his wedding made it quite clear to him that without Grace, he does not have much of a life at all. He has been trying to solve that recently, by getting a new job, seeking out new relationships, even joining a church, all with limited success.
Still, he is trying, and Grace, though she is keeping her distance, has seen this.
He jumped to his feet when she came into the room and studied her face, looking for any trace of weariness or pain. “Hi,” he said.
She managed a smile. “Hey.” She went to sign in with the receptionist, then took a seat next to him. There was no one else in the room.
“How are you feeling?” Con asked. He has learned that discussions of her health are usually safe.
“Good,” she said. “My ankles were swelling yesterday, but they’re down again today.”
They both looked down at her ankles. They did not look swollen to me, but I made a note to check with Brid.
“How’s the new job?” Grace asked after a moment of silence.
“Eh, it’s okay,” Con said with a shrug. “Kind of nice to be outside, but I’m still getting the hang of landscaping. I think I’ll like it once I’ve been at it for a few weeks.”
“That’s good,” Grace said.
Silence fell again, weighing heavily on their shoulders. In moments like this, both of them think back to long evenings that they spent together, laughing and talking for hours and never once running out of words. This, to me, is what awkwardness is—unspoken feelings or memories that keep two people at a distance. My approach to bridging such things? Highlighting what the two still have in common.
“You talked to Michael lately?” Con asked on a prompt from me. “He and Amanda are planning a trip out to New York next weekend.”
“Oh, really?” Grace asked, sounding genuinely interested.
“Yeah, they told me to invite you.”
“I’d love to come if I’m off work.” She paused and lifted an eyebrow at Con. “Will there be Broadway?”
Con snorted. “Knowing Amanda, there’ll be no escaping it.”
That made Grace laugh. “Then I will definitely have to go if I can.”
“Spare me,” Con grumbled, who for some reason dislikes live theatre performances. “The last time we went, Michael and I dropped her off at Wicked and went and had a beer.”
“More than one, I’d imagine—that’s not a short show.”
“You’re telling me!”
They were laughing when the nurse came out to call them back, and so she had no reason to guess that they were at odds. Con wanted to help Grace up onto the table where she would wait for the reading, but she has not taken well to his offers of help in the past few weeks, so instead he only watched to make certain she would not slip. I made certain that she noticed both his concern and his respectful restraint.
They were not left to their stiff silence for long—soon the professional who would read the machine for them entered and exchanged a few pleasantries with them both. In the end, it is not a very complicated activity—in no time at all, the four of us were staring at the blurred movements on the screen.
It was stunning to me. The little shape on the screen moved slowly, its limbs clumsy with newness. The edges of it were blurred, and yet it was recognizably human, with a dewdrop nose and large eyes closed. With machines, humans have managed to capture a picture of the body as it takes shape, takes on soul.
Someday, we shall all be such a tiny thing, slowly sinking down into a mother’s body and breaking free to live our own lives. What a thought!
Con and Grace were both similarly affected. Grace, though she has seen the baby before, could not take her eyes from the screen, and Con, who had stood a respectful distance away before, now stepped closer, riveted. “Look,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “Look at that. Oh, Gracie.”
I was not so lost in wonder that I did not turn her attention to the emotion in his voice. She looked at his face, and she saw his eyes wide, bright with tears, the helpless smile on his face. Swallowing her own tears, Grace held out her hand to him, and he took it without removing his gaze from the screen.
The baby turned its little head, as if it could sense its parents drawing closer to one another. For an instant—perhaps I imagined it—but perhaps it, too, extended its hand, as if wanting to be part of the family.
That is nonsense. Of course the child does not have sufficient understanding for that. But I like to think that it was so.
“Everything looks good,” the tech said. “And—yep, now I know what you’re having.” She smiled at Grace and Con. “Am I telling you?”
Grace glanced at Con, who still hadn’t taken his eyes from the screen. He nodded, and she looked back at the tech. “Yes, please. We want to know.”
The tech smiled gently. “It’s a boy,” she said.
Any of us who saw the excitement in the parents’ hearts as they heard this might have thought that they hoped for this, but that isn’t so—they would have been just as thrilled to learn of a daughter. It is simply that this knowledge makes the child that much more real to them, and that is what they want. That is what they cannot wait for.
“So Truman is a real possibility, huh?” Con asked, and Grace laughed even as she batted at him with one hand. With the other, though, she clung to him, expressing warmth and joy and ease.
They were still discussing names when they left, and all through the ride back to Grace’s apartment, the silence did not fall once. Indeed, they are planning to meet again tomorrow to make more plans.
I sincerely hope that I am still looking after Grace when the child comes. I want to meet this little person, almost as much as his parents do. And I will certainly do whatever it takes to ensure that he comes into a stable family with nothing to keep them from loving him fully and well.