The Pregnant Bride (a bonus Scott Family story!!)

Boom!

Early Spring in the South is disgusting. Lovely every other time? Oh, YES. But then, just when you're admiring everything coming back to life from winter? The trees sprout bright green snot and wipe it on everything that holds still.

Ick. 

I walked out of work and stopped. My car was covered in pollen so thick that I wouldn't even be able to drive. 

"Mrs. Scott!" One of the parents stormed up to me, her little boy in tow. I thought I'd slipped out for my half-day off without being noticed but... 

"MRS. SCOTT! Could I speak to you a moment please?"

I slapped a smile on my face. "Yes, Mrs. Coughlin?"

"I saw what you wrote on Ethan's progress report."

"Oh. Did you want to make an appointment to discuss that?"

"No," She straightened up and looked me in the eye, her hand on her son's shoulder. "I'm wondering...well, I do not do art. How do you suggest that I encourage him? If you're serious about him having signs of interest and talent."

"I am," I exhaled, nonplussed. I hadn't expected her to be approving of her rough-and-tumble preschooler's love of mod podge. "Well, having supplies at home is the easiest way. Like a crafting station? At our home, we have started with recycled paper and an assortment of markers in different colors and sizes. We make sure that they are always in reach. And we have a metallic panel to feature his favorite pieces with magnets. If you are looking for something more structured, the park district has art experience classes for children of all ages and the art museum has art camps in the summer."

"Thank you, Mrs. Scott," Mrs. Coughlin smiled. She looked down, "Say 'thank you', Ethan, she wrote nice things about you."

"I wrote true things about you," I assured him. "But I do have to be going..."

"Oh, of course," she glanced at my car before heading off. "You know the wash on Magnolia is half-price on Tuesdays."

"Good to know," I waved, slipping into the driver's seat. It took a full 5 minutes for the windshield washer to clear the glass enough to see. I groaned. Any more delays and my whole day was shot. 

The Office of Reproductive Endocrinology was on the 3rd floor of the Professional Services Building behind the hospital. I jogged down the hall already a couple of minutes late. The receptionist looked at me with pursed lips. 

"You're just under the wire."

"I understand. I'm sorry."

After checking in, I was led to a small room to change. After that was enough blood draws to feed a small family of vampires and a thorough physical exam. I'd already been through these with my regular doctor and was uncomfortable doing it with a stranger. No one seemed to notice my strain and just kept doing to me what they read on my file. Finally, I was led down to radiology.

Holy crap.

Holy crap.

Ouch. 

And that's all I'm gonna say about that - except someone owed me a steak dinner or some serious jewelry.  

My phone rang as I was in the elevator back down to my car. 

"How was it?"

"It was some kind of medieval trauma," I told Jeb. "How was yours?"

"Uh...." he coughed. "Well, it was fine."

"What did you have to do?"

"Uh... nothing much. Look, I'm at this seamstress person's office. I thought it would take much longer to get across town."