“It’s a girl!”
DESPITE BEING BLISTERINGLY hot, the day I anticipated since the moment I found out I was pregnant proved to be stunningly beautiful, finally void of rain clouds. I took off work the afternoon of the ultrasound—there was no way anyone from Covington was going to ruin this for me—and Andrew met me at the obstetrician’s office. I decidedly shut off my cell phone and left my computer in the car, hooked to the charger, where it would rot until the next day.
“…there is absolutely nothing there,” the cute little ultrasound tech said confidently, grinning. I was jealous of her awesome little ass. She was maybe twenty-one. “It’s definitely a girl.”
Baby Girl Cook was spread eagle. No penis there, for sure. Or if there was one … probably not a good sign…
I squealed, forgetting my inferior ass. “Yayyyy!”
Andrew’s wistful, sweet smile when he heard “It’s a girl” will forever be etched in my mind. “A girl. I’m going to have a daughter. Calla Marie Cook.”
After fighting over girl names for months, we agreed the night before. He wanted Julie. I wanted Ella. He discovered the name at work, a suggestion from a colleague who was obsessed with flowers. I loved Calla instantly.
Grace was quite boastful that her prediction was right. After letting her gloat, Mama and I tore up the downtown shops that evening, leaving Covington Company worlds away. We rummaged through every children’s and infants’ shop in Fairhope, eventually trekking our way into Mobile, searching for good deals since my tight-ass husband had me on a ridiculous budget.
“You will have baby showers,” was his reply to my protesting.
I bought Calla a gorgeous smocked dress that mirrored the one tucked in my imagination. It was embroidered with adorable crab smocking, and I could see her sitting on a blanket in the sand, picture perfect. Mama purchased a soft, fuzzy, three-piece pink and white polka-dotted outfit that was ideal for her to wear coming home from the hospital. I daydreamed; full of romantic ideas that one day Calla’s own daughter might wear it.
“Jana,” Mama said loudly as she shoved a handful of outfits back on the shelf, notably sloppier than they were before. I scoured the place, hoping the sales representatives did not catch her lackluster effort at returning the clothes to their rightful place. “Seeing all these outfits reminds me of when you were little. Daniel was so terrible—” She snickered, unleashing a snort. “You would beg him and his friends to play with you. Do you remember that? One time, you had on a sundress that looked almost just like this one…” She pointed to a yellow, checkered sundress highlighted with pink roses. “…and they told you that the little girl next door had no clothes and she needed your dress. You were about four, maybe five. You took it off, and then walked next door in your Minnie Mouse panties to help her out. You were so sweet. You almost cried when they told you she had no clothes.”
I laughed out loud. “I remember that.” The little girl’s cashmere-clad, bouffant-haired mother found me naked, told me to put my dress back on, and promptly marched me back home to inform Mama that I was behaving inappropriately, scurrying around naked and giving away my clothes.
I also remembered the much smoother tactics my older brother’s friends had tried to get me out of my clothes in my later years … when I definitely did not have to beg them to “play” with me anymore. Daniel was not much of a protector; he was too concerned with baseball and getting my friends out of theirs . He practiced playing doctor with Grace long before he actually became one, mastering the art of bedside manner. Mama and Daddy should have known better than to let us stay up late with the big boys…
Chuckling, when I should have been cringing, at the memory, I made a mental note to keep a closer eye on Calla than Mama and Daddy had on us.
Lost in the
DESPITE BEING BLISTERINGLY hot, the day I anticipated since the moment I found out I was pregnant proved to be stunningly beautiful, finally void of rain clouds. I took off work the afternoon of the ultrasound—there was no way anyone from Covington was going to ruin this for me—and Andrew met me at the obstetrician’s office. I decidedly shut off my cell phone and left my computer in the car, hooked to the charger, where it would rot until the next day.
“…there is absolutely nothing there,” the cute little ultrasound tech said confidently, grinning. I was jealous of her awesome little ass. She was maybe twenty-one. “It’s definitely a girl.”
Baby Girl Cook was spread eagle. No penis there, for sure. Or if there was one … probably not a good sign…
I squealed, forgetting my inferior ass. “Yayyyy!”
Andrew’s wistful, sweet smile when he heard “It’s a girl” will forever be etched in my mind. “A girl. I’m going to have a daughter. Calla Marie Cook.”
After fighting over girl names for months, we agreed the night before. He wanted Julie. I wanted Ella. He discovered the name at work, a suggestion from a colleague who was obsessed with flowers. I loved Calla instantly.
Grace was quite boastful that her prediction was right. After letting her gloat, Mama and I tore up the downtown shops that evening, leaving Covington Company worlds away. We rummaged through every children’s and infants’ shop in Fairhope, eventually trekking our way into Mobile, searching for good deals since my tight-ass husband had me on a ridiculous budget.
“You will have baby showers,” was his reply to my protesting.
I bought Calla a gorgeous smocked dress that mirrored the one tucked in my imagination. It was embroidered with adorable crab smocking, and I could see her sitting on a blanket in the sand, picture perfect. Mama purchased a soft, fuzzy, three-piece pink and white polka-dotted outfit that was ideal for her to wear coming home from the hospital. I daydreamed; full of romantic ideas that one day Calla’s own daughter might wear it.
“Jana,” Mama said loudly as she shoved a handful of outfits back on the shelf, notably sloppier than they were before. I scoured the place, hoping the sales representatives did not catch her lackluster effort at returning the clothes to their rightful place. “Seeing all these outfits reminds me of when you were little. Daniel was so terrible—” She snickered, unleashing a snort. “You would beg him and his friends to play with you. Do you remember that? One time, you had on a sundress that looked almost just like this one…” She pointed to a yellow, checkered sundress highlighted with pink roses. “…and they told you that the little girl next door had no clothes and she needed your dress. You were about four, maybe five. You took it off, and then walked next door in your Minnie Mouse panties to help her out. You were so sweet. You almost cried when they told you she had no clothes.”
I laughed out loud. “I remember that.” The little girl’s cashmere-clad, bouffant-haired mother found me naked, told me to put my dress back on, and promptly marched me back home to inform Mama that I was behaving inappropriately, scurrying around naked and giving away my clothes.
I also remembered the much smoother tactics my older brother’s friends had tried to get me out of my clothes in my later years … when I definitely did not have to beg them to “play” with me anymore. Daniel was not much of a protector; he was too concerned with baseball and getting my friends out of theirs . He practiced playing doctor with Grace long before he actually became one, mastering the art of bedside manner. Mama and Daddy should have known better than to let us stay up late with the big boys…
Chuckling, when I should have been cringing, at the memory, I made a mental note to keep a closer eye on Calla than Mama and Daddy had on us.
Lost in the
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