Nina Wright - Whiskey Mattimoe 07 - Whiskey, Large by Nina Wright

Author:Nina Wright [Wright, Nina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery: Cozy - Real Estate Broker - Michigan
Publisher: Martin Brown Publishers
Published: 2014-07-10T00:00:00+00:00

In fact I did have good luck at the doc’s. However, Jeb spiked my blood pressure by observing, correctly, while we were still in the waiting room that my OB looked and sounded like a younger version of my mother.

Why had I never noticed before? True, I am the Queen of Denial, but this was deeply troubling. Had I unconsciously sought out a clone of my mother to deliver my baby? Horrors. Even Doc’s mannerisms were indisputably like Mom’s, although, of course, Doc was nicer. Except when it came to nagging me about gaining too much weight.

Thinking about the “momness” of Doc distressed and distracted me during the whole examination. Although Doc’s voice seemed far away, I was aware that Jeb was tracking her comments. I took a deep breath and tuned back in.

Doc pointed out that Baby’s head was in my pelvis, leaving less room for my bladder, which—hello!—I already knew. Jeb voiced his concern that I kept falling asleep.

“I’m nearly narcoleptic,” I admitted.

“It’s not unusual at this point,” Doc said, “although some women get a burst of nesting energy about now.”

That cracked me up until I realized she wasn’t kidding. Doc warned me against driving if I was as sleepy as I claimed. We assured her I had a driver.

“Baby seems quieter than before,” I observed. “Is that normal?”

“Your baby’s at least 20 inches long and weighs at least eight pounds,” Doc said. “There’s less room in there to move around than there used to be.”

We covered my usual roster of complaints, ranging from itchy belly to swollen feet and loose bowels to backaches. Nothing new going on there. Nothing delivering Baby wouldn’t resolve.

Doc asked if I was having Braxton Hicks contractions, also known as “practice contractions.”

“None yet,” I said. “Should I be worried?”

She shook her head decisively.

“Braxton Hicks contractions are more common in subsequent pregnancies,” she said. “Worry is a waste of everyone’s time.”

Jeb and I locked eyes. That last sentence sounded just like Mom talking.

“Your breasts are not leaking colostrum,” Doc noted.

“No, but they’re bigger than ever,” I said.

“They’ll get bigger yet.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jeb grin.

Doc continued, “The lack of colostrum doesn’t mean you can’t breastfeed.”

“I don’t want to breastfeed,” I said, sounding slightly petulant even to my own ears.

She frowned, or I thought she did, and made a note in my file. Again with the Irene Houston-isms.

She warned me to watch out for “bloody show,” which is not a British expression, and the loss of my mucous plug, which sounded just plain gross.

Let’s be honest. The whole pregnancy and delivery thing is disgusting, and nobody is more squeamish than me. Not to mention the fact that I was doing this for the very first—and only—time at age thirty-five, which seemed perilously close to forty and old age.

Sensing my unease, Jeb squeezed my hand. Once again I silently thanked the universe and all things beneficent for giving us a second shot at getting marriage right. Yes, this was happening to my body only, but we were having our baby together.

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