Page 41 of Nine Month Contract
His words from our first interview replay in my mind:“I can be kind of possessive when it comes to those I love.”
I shake that thought away because,obviously,he doesn’t love me. He doesn’t know the full extent of my crazy yet. It’s this baby I’m growing inside me he’s protecting. But right now, I’ll take this as a sign that of all the people I could have become a surrogate for, I might have gotten lucky with Wyatt. He’s definitely sweet…not psycho.
“I’m not trying to pressure anyone.” Johanna clutches her hands to her chest defensively. “We’ve met, and now I’ll leave. I hope to see you again soon—”
“Is there a Trista Matthews here?” a voice calls down the hallway, and we all turn to face the nurse dressed in pink scrubs. “We’re looking for Trista Matthews.”
“I’m Trista.” I hold my hand up and wave around Wyatt’s mom.
“Great!” The nurse bustles over to us with a warm smile and a clipboard in hand. Her eyes move to Wyatt and his mother. “We’reready for you back there. Is everyone here coming back for the ultrasound?”
“No,” Wyatt snaps as he reaches out to grab my hand and pull me down the hallway.
I glance over my shoulder and see Johanna’s eyes go from wildly hopeful to crushing disappointment. It’s heartbreaking. And I’m still fascinated by a mother caring so much that she just shows up to her son’s first ultrasound appointment.
The tech leads us down the hallway, and I stop, forcing Wyatt and the nurse to stop with me. All their eyes settle on me before I glance over my shoulder and say, “Johanna, would you like to join us?”
“Really?” Johanna jumps up and down with joy.
Wyatt immediately pulls me in close, so close I can smell his mountain-man musk again. “Trista, you really don’t have to do this.”
My eyes slide over to his mom, who’s looking at the nurse with so much hope and excitement I can’t help but want to continue watching this show…whatever it is. I turn my gaze to the grumpy mountain man in front of me and whisper, “I just have to see what this looks like.”
Wyatt’s face twists in confusion, but I shake him off. Now isn’t the time to unpack my baggage with my intended baby daddy.
“Truth bomb?” I murmur quietly to Wyatt, who’s standing beside me on the exam bed. I awkwardly shift on top of the white paper that I can feel sticking to my ass as my nerves cause my body to sweat. I lean up to his ear and whisper, “I didn’t realize I’d have to take my pants off when I said your mom could join us.”
“Do you want me to ask her to leave?” Wyatt’s eyes are wide and urgent. “Just say the word and—”
He motions with his thumb like he’s going to bounce his tiny mother out of the room, so I grab his hand and lower it. “Chillax, Mr. Mountain Man. I’ll be fine. I’m covered…mostly.” I reach back and attempt to make sure the top of my ass crack is still covered by the blue cloth the tech gave me before she cheerfully told me to undress from the waist down.
Walking out of the attached bathroom and clutching the sheet to my back because it wouldn’t wrap all the way around me was bad enough. But making eye contact with Wyatt’s tiny mother as I shifted on the exam table to peel the white paper off my butt cheek was a moment of humiliation I wish I never experienced.
Damn nervous giggles.
And fuck these lady clinics. Honestly, what’s so hard about having some extra-large sheets on hand? As a full-figure female, this is a problem I encounter more times than I care to admit, and our society needs to evolve past that. And the ridiculous BMI scale.
Hotels are horrible about that too. Those towels are a joke. I’m lucky to get them wrapped around half of my lower body. My ass, hips, and thighs require some extra material. And I’ve got a little pouch of a belly situation that’s always giving “is she pregnant or just bloated” vibes…you know…before I actually got pregnant.
When the ultrasound tech returns, I get the nervous snickers again because we must look about as awkward as can be right now. Wyatt’s mom stands under the giant television set hanging on the wall, unwrapping a roll of breath mints, and Wyatt is low-key staring at his feet, muttering obscenities.
“Looks like the gang’s all ready!” the tech declares as she sits in the roller chair and squirts gel over a long probe covered in a condom. She smiles warmly down at me and says in a thick Minnesota accent, “I get so excited to do these surrogate scans because it’s just such a special gift you’re giving to someone. A real-life belly buddy babysitter. Go, you!”
“Thanks.” I force a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes and wonder if I can one-star review this baby-talking, hearts-and-flowers nurse who really just needs to say less.
“Where does that thing go?” Wyatt blurts out, his eyes wide and fixed on the object in her hand.
In her bubbly, singsongy voice, the nurse replies, “Well, at seven weeks pregnant, the little guy or gal in there is about the size of ajelly bean. Much too small for us to see through the belly. Which means we do a vaginal ultrasound, so this special tool will go in her vagina.” She waves the giant dildo toward a stunned-looking Wyatt. “Next week, your little baby will be the size of a popcorn kernel and then a gumball and a tater tot, and by the time you get to the size of a Reese’s cup, we’ll be able to do belly scans! Yummy, right?”
“Yummy!” Johanna cheers as she pops a mint into her mouth.
Wyatt’s face morphs into a look of disgust as his eyes flick from his mother’s and back to the tech. I have to bite my lip not to laugh. I get the impression he’s not disgusted by the vagina wand. I think he’s disgusted by the tech’s food analogies. She clearly doesn’t speak mountain man. He would have better understood her if she replied in grunts or used bits of nature to describe the size of this baby.
Acorn. Pine nut. Goat turd! Those are analogies this man can respect. I wonder how far along I’ll be when the baby is the size of a goat turd?
“Okay, I’m going to need you to scooch all the way down to the edge of the table so we can get a look at your belly buddy.”
The exam table makes a painful screeching noise as I shift downward. I don’t know what’s more cringey, the sound of my skin ripping off this vinyl or the nickname she just gave this baby. Surely, we can do better than “belly buddy,” right? I mean, we haven’t even seen this baby on a scan yet. Aren’t we getting the cart ahead of the horse here?
