I'll Be Seeing You

Twenty-Five.

No one prepared me for this. No one told me how hard pregnancy could be. Don't get me wrong—it's a beautiful thing. A blessing. A miracle, even, to grow a tiny human inside of you. But I didn't realize just how physically, emotionally, and mentally draining it would be. This is the point in a woman's life when she needs her mother. Her grandmother. And I had neither.

I did have an army behind me, though. There was Mark—over-the-top supportive, as always. Then Rene, Abby, Michelle, Chelsey... even Lana. I wasn't alone. I knew that. But some days, it still hit hard. Knowing that two of the most important women in your life aren't there to see the milestones... That kind of ache doesn't fade. Not even with the strongest support system.

It took me a while to get used to not going to work every day. I missed my patients. I missed my coworkers. So much, in fact, that I'd often bake something and just... show up. I'd sneak into the break room with trays of snacks and desserts like I still belonged there. One time, Susan half-joked that she was going to ban me from the building if I didn't take it easy.

But I couldn't help it. I needed to do something. I needed to feel like I still had a purpose. And I did—I do. My job now was to make sure that this baby stayed put just a little longer. We were inching closer to our due date, but he'd already given us a few scares—those heart-stopping moments when something felt off, a cramp hit too hard, or the monitor beeped just a little too long. 

That's when Mark shifted gears. He didn't yell. He didn't panic. He just stepped in. One night after a false alarm hospital trip, I caught him pacing the living room, phone in hand, typing out something with his jaw set tight.

"What are you doing?" I asked, lowering myself carefully onto the couch.

He looked up. Calm, but very serious. "Ordering one of those pregnancy body pillows. The giant ones that wrap around your whole body like a cinnamon roll."

"You're buying me a body pillow?"

"And a new humidifier. And prenatal massage gift cards. And I called Michelle—she's going to stop by with meals three times a week. You're not lifting a finger. Not one."

"Mark, I'm pregnant, not made of glass."

He walked over, knelt in front of me, and placed a hand gently on my belly. "I know," he said. "But he's in there. And I've never wanted to protect two people so badly in my entire life."

I didn't have a reply for that. Not with my throat tight and my heart somewhere near my ribcage. So I just nodded and leaned into him. He was just doing what Mark does. What any good father would do. 

The baby store was not ready for Mark. What started as a simple "Let's go pick out a car seat" turned into a full-blown operation. He had a notepad, a highlighter, and a printed list of Consumer Reports ratings for every travel system known to man.

"Mark," I whispered, tugging on his arm, "we are not building a space shuttle."

He didn't even look up. "This one failed side-impact testing. This one had a recall last year. This one's fabric has a weird smell—what even is poly-blend ultra weave? That's not a thing, Alyssa."

I watched him examine the next car seat like it owed him money. He gave it a jiggle, checked the base, squinted at the price tag, then turned to me with deadly seriousness. "If this thing can't survive a T-bone at forty miles an hour, it's not touching my son."

"Our son," I corrected with a smile.

He paused, then his whole expression softened. "Right. Our son. You know what I meant baby,"