Maybe We Shouldn't...| SCK AU story

26 • And Baby Makes Three

Eda

          A cocktail of emotions jostled inside me-nerves, anticipation, fear, and a tinge of excitement-all mashed up like a ball of rainbow playdough. I slid the last stick from its package and peed on it-counted the seconds-foolishly expected one single pink line to appear. To say that I was flabbergasted when I saw the two startling pink lines on all three of the home pregnancy tests was an understatement. To be honest, I wasn't sure why I was surprised by those life-changing double lines that appeared in the oval window. Perhaps my mind just wasn't prepared to accept the cold, hard reality. Aside from the morning-after in Sin City-when we weren't certain if we had sex in our drunken stupor the night before-there was only one other incident when there was an impromptu P&V slip and slide action without latex. Oopsie-daisy. Classic mistake. Such a cliché. I believe a chapter from the Stupid Things You Shouldn't Do If You Don't Want to Get Knocked Up manual clearly advises against letting your boyfriend pull out before he ejaculates inside you. Rudimental stuff. Birth Control 101. What is the success rate for the pull-out method, you ask? This form of birth control method is about 80% effective. About one in five people who rely on the pull-out method for birth control becomes pregnant. Obviously, we're in this conundrum because I am the unlucky one-or the lucky one-depending on how you see it-out of the five who got impregnated. I was on top-I rode Serkan like a mechanical bull at Rooster's on ladies' night. Except in our scenario, the winner didn't get free Baha Rosa shots-she ended up with a bun in her oven. I came hard and fast-and Serkan-being the generous lover that he is-pulled out before he exploded inside me. Bingo. Things didn't quite pan out the way our fuzzy, alcohol-induced brain had imagined.

          Back to the present time. After the initial shock wore off-scrambled, panicky thoughts take over-like the troops that invaded the beaches of Normandy. A baby means diapers. A shit ton of diapers, literally. It means explosive poops-sleepless nights-blood curdling banshee wails-temper tantrums-college tuition-the list is endless. Small human beings grow into obnoxious pre-teens-or are they tweens? Tweens grow into big, rebellious teenagers who talk back to their parents. My worrisome mind is like a runaway train-barreling down the track with no signs of stopping. Say goodbye to spontaneous sex on the couch-on the kitchen counter-on top of the baby grand-and everywhere else in the house other than in our bed, with the door locked. I swear I can hear my vagina weep in despair. I grab the water bottle from the bathroom counter and start gulping. The ice cube I swallowed by accident gets lodged in my throat and I start choking-spurting water all over the floor. What I need to numb my brain is a few shots of the good stuff Serkan has in the liquor cabinet-the Top Shelf whiskey he enjoys-Glen something. Glenlivet-Glenfiddich? Oh wait-I can't even do that. I'm carrying a new life in my uterus. I'm hunched over the toilet-shaky hands cupping my mouth. What have we done? How could we have been so stupid and irresponsible? Why did we act like horny teenagers that night? The what-ifs, the could-haves, the should-haves, and the shouldn't-haves in the world cannot undo what was done.

          Serkan always says, "the only way is through." My gaze trails over to him. He sits leaning up against the bathtub-both elbows resting on his bended knees-his chin parking on entwined fingers. His eyes are bloodshot. His hair looks like it went through a tumble-dry cycle - twice. My poor baby looks like he'd seen a ghost. Or just received news that his girlfriend is pregnant. I don't even think he noticed I spilled water all over the tile floor. The only way is through. Now is as good a time as any, to walk the talk.

***

Serkan

          Today is a big day. It's Eda's first ultrasound since we received confirmation that she is pregnant. Amidst the cacophony of background noises in the bustling hallway of Scripps Mercy Hospital-my mind rewinds to the night of Codi's housewarming party. As I drift into memory lane-the harsh lights and sharp noises gradually fade away. The night of tipsy tomfoolery in the large closet with the plushest carpet I've ever felt under me. I had an inkling that something was off when Eda grumbled that her breasts felt tender when fondled. Along with feeling bloated and being crankier than usual, the signs were there. I kept my mouth zipped because the last thing I needed was a knee to my family jewel-diminishing any chance of siring baby Bolat in the future. My capricious Eda wouldn't actually do that, but I didn't want to take any chances when it came to her rollercoaster hormones. The puzzle pieces-her erratic mood swings, bizarre cravings, and griping about her expanding waistline-fell into place. Several weeks later, we found out that our spontaneous romp in Codi's closet planted a seed in my darling Eda's belly.