“There will be some pressure,” she said, and there was. Not enough to make me run screaming from the room, but it was momentarily uncomfortable. I forgot all about that when she arced her hand around, pressed and found the magical spot.

There it was, on the screen. The jelly bean. I stared at it, my brain blanking much the same way it had when Dr. Bhatia had told me I was pregnant. It was too much to process for one meager mind, but then my mother gasped beside me, breaking my pseudo-trance.

“Whoa. They’re kinda cute. Like a twitchy little alien blob,” she said.

What I wanted to say but couldn’t articulate quite yet was that this was my twitchy little alien blob, and that made all the difference in the world.

Literally.

All that cliché crap about having preggo baby feels? Yeah, it totally happened.

Something, something, papas and preaching.

Thank you, Mom’s obsession with Madonna.

“Everything’s looking good,” Dr. Cardiff said. “All visual signs are a go.”

“And there’s only one kid! That calls for party hats,” Mom said. “I love you, Sara, but if you’d made a litter, I’d have to sell you to the circus.”

Still, I didn’t say anything, instead absorbing every detail I could from the shivering image on the screen. Dr. Cardiff eyed me over the rim of her teal tortoiseshell glasses. She coordinated her glasses to her outfits, her button-down teal shirt, a black necktie circling her throat. “We good?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I managed, voice thick. I hadn’t planned on crying, but the tears happened anyway, wetting my cheeks and dribbling off my chin. There was a tiny person up on the monitor staring back at me. Okay, not really staring because I don’t think they had eyeballs yet, but whatever. It was my baby. Me and some mystery guy named Jack had created a little ball of weird cells and that weird ball of cells would one day have hopes and dreams and maybe an appreciation of crappy T-shirts like their mom and F-150s like their dad because I knew pretty much nothing else about him other than the beer-and-truck thing.

My mom sniffled suspiciously beside me. I looked over, and she, too, was water-working it up looking at the jelly bean.

“...I cry at weddings, too, okay?” she said, defensively.

“What? I’m crying. It’s fine.”

Dr. Cardiff nudged a box of tissues our way, some parts kindness, some parts sparing herself having to look at two ugly criers, I’m sure.

“We ready for a heartbeat?” Dr. Cardiff asked.

“Yeah. Yes. Please.” I smiled at her and blew my nose.