He bends down to whisper in her ear, "If it's a boy, we should name him Peter, and if it's a girl, Petra." Her eyes are closed, but she smiles and says, "Shut up. I hate you," in his favorite tone, which means the exact opposite of that, and he's glad she's smiling because he knows how scared she is.
He had told her in the car, "Third time's the charm, Pam" and her retort was, "Well, three strikes and we're out," which was so unlike her, but he felt the same anxiety. They can't afford this again, fiscally or emotionally. He knows she's just being cautious, she won't allow herself to think about it yet. She has grieved twice before this, when it simply didn't work, and three times before that, before they even knew they had a problem, when she thought she might be pregnant and it turned out to be nothing. He sits next to the table she's laying on, his head close to hers. He strokes her hair gently, noticing the familiar feelings of guilt well up because he's the reason they are there. Her eggs might be released erratically, but his sperm refuse to swim at all.She knows him too well because she says, "It'll be okay if it doesn't work. We'll be fine, we can look into other things, and we've been a family for seven years already," and though he needs to hear it, he knows she's hoping for something else. This is the same pep talk she's given him both times before, and a part of him wishes she wouldn't say anything, because her being nice is acknowledging that she is trying to make him feel better, because it's his fault. She had only blamed him once, in the heat of an argument, and then had fallen to tears in apology, but Jim will never forget how angry she had sounded.
He kisses her cheek gently, and she smiles, reaching up to touch his cheek, as Dr. Shaw and a nurse come back into the room.
"I'm sorry about that," Dr. Shaw says, moving the flimsy sheet off of Pam. Jim can see her smooth, white stomach and winces slightly when the doctor squeezes the gel onto it. So does Pam, who gasps, "Ooh, it's cold!" the same way she does every time.
Even though he knows gel can't possibly hurt, Jim looks away, not wanting to see her recoil. He looks at the bulletin board of smiling baby faces and hates it. He just wants one little round face, just like all the others here- why do other families get one and not he and Pam, who want it more than anything?
He turns away from those mocking babies and watches as the nurse helps position the ultrasound machine so they can all see it. Dr. Shaw runs her wand over Pam's abdomen, and Jim sees shadows flit across the screen. She moves the wand over a little more, and Jim can see a black expanse, a little cave. He breaks his gaze from the screen and looks at Pam. She's looking back at him, and he reaches for her hand to squeeze.
Dr. Shaw breaks out into a huge smile, and Jim's heart thumps. Pam looks scared, and they squeeze hands again.
"Pam, Jim, it looks like three of the embryos have taken and are nice and firm on the uterine wall!" she says, and though she's calm, Jim can hear the excitement in her voice, and feels a lump in his throat as he realizes what she is saying. Pam bursts into tears, and though Jim knows they're not out of the woods yet, that some of the embryos might be reabsorbed, all he can think of is that right now, he and Pam have created three tiny lives.
Dr. Shaw and the nurse step out into the hallway, but Jim barely registers this. He has eyes only for the three miniscule blobs on the screen, and for Pam, who is sliding her arms around his neck. "Jim," she sobs, "I'm pregnant!"
"I know," he whispers into her hair, "We're going to have a baby."
"Or two or three," she sniffles, and he can feel her laugh.
"I told you three’s the charm," he pulls back and smiles at her through his own haze. She sobs again and pulls him back into the hug. She whispers, "They just needed to take their time. They just needed a little push, like we did, “and he tightens his grip around her, knowing that his world will never be the same.
