Generation 1.7

Not long after the wedding, my friend Mango finally found the time to come around for a visit. I was pretty shocked when I got a good look at her, though. Mango was pregnant!

“Oh my Berry, when?!” I demanded excitedly, reaching down to give her rounded tummy a gentle rub.

“Only a few more months now,” Mango responded with a smile. “Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I wanted to make sure I was out of the danger-zone before I shared the news.”

I understood what she meant. Mango’s mom had died in child-birth, which was why she’d been in the orphanage. Apparently the women in her family had difficulties carrying babies, but it looked like Mango was doing a great job so far.

“Marine asked me to marry him as soon as we found out,” Mango revealed excitedly. Marine was her long-time boyfriend, whom she'd met at the Tic-Tac club the same night I met Sunglow. “We didn’t want anything fancy, so we just went down to City Hall to fill out the paperwork. So you’re now looking at Mrs. Mango Abyss.”

“Oh Mango, I’m so happy for you!” I exclaimed, meaning every word. Me and my best-friend had found love and happiness in the end, it was like the perfect ending of a fairy tale.

Mango grinned.

“What about you, Nill? How’s married life treating you?” Mango gave a few suggestive eyebrow-wags, which made me blush bright red to the tips of my ears. I couldn’t help the satisfied little smirk that formed either, though.

“Just fine, thank you very much.” That made us both peal with laughter. I had to cut it short, though, as another wave of dizziness and nausea overtook me.  Mango noticed and her expression became concerned.

“You okay, Nill? You don’t look so hot.”

“I’ll be alright,” I reassured. “I’ve just been getting a little dizzy and sick to my stomach lately. I must have picked up a little stomach virus or something.” Oddly, Mango smirked.

“Or something. You might want to make an appointment with your doctor, Nill. It could be important.”

“You think?” I was convinced it wasn’t serious, but now that Mango mentioned it, my symptoms didn’t seem to be going away. Mango just smiled.

“Better to be safe than sorry.”

Taking Mango’s advice, I went to the clinic the next day. They did several tests, then told me to call back later that evening for the results. I tried to keep myself busy and not dwell on what could be wrong for the rest of the day. Finally evening came, and I took out the phone to dial the number while Sunglow read a book his boss had given him behind me, blissfully unaware of my inner-turmoil.

“Sugarlawn Regional Medical Center, how may I help you?” came the chipper voice on the other line.

“Um, h-hi,” I fumbled. “My name’s Vanilla Palette, I came in earlier today for a check-up. Th-they told me to call back for the results.”

“Ah, yes,” the voice answered, “let me just bring up your file here, Mrs. Palette . . . hm-mm . . . oh! Well, it seems congratulations are in order, Mrs. Palette! You’re pregnant.”

The rest of the conversation was a bit of a blur. I somehow finished it, or maybe I didn’t, maybe I just hung up on the poor nurse. I couldn’t remember.

The next thing I knew I was still standing in the living-room staring at the wall in shock, Sunglow having long since gone to bed.

Me? Pregnant?! Already? Oh Berry, we could barely afford to take care of ourselves! How were we going to manage to take care of a baby too?!

I went to bed that night full of turmoil and angst. Oblivious, Sunglow sleepily pulled me up against his chest and went right back to sleep. It took me much, much longer to follow him into dreams.

The weeks were flying by, and it wouldn’t be long now before I could no longer hide my condition. My comfy pajama shirt wouldn’t fit me anymore, I’d been forced to trade it in for a much looser gown. I got up early that morning to tend the crops and stared down at my barely-there bump, a hundred worries chasing themselves around in my mind. I still hadn’t told Sunglow, but I’d promised myself I would today. We both wanted children eventually, I knew, but we’d wanted to wait a while until we were more financially stable. I prayed he wouldn’t be angry with me.

I shouldn’t have worried at all. Turns out Sunglow was over the moon with the news. When I tried to voice my fears about being able to handle it, he just took my face in his hands and hushed me with a gentle kiss.

“This was meant to be, Nilla Bean. Don’t worry about the money. Things will work themselves out, you’ll see. No more sad eyes. This is happy news. We’re gonna have a baby!”

With that kind of enthusiasm, how could I not be pulled along for the ride?

Sunglow was the best daddy-to-be ever, I was certain. He loved rubbing my growing belly, as well as listening to and talking to the baby for hours.

I wasn’t left out of the attention, either. As soon as I even hinted at having a back-ache he was there, giving me a wonderful massage.

We somehow managed to scrounge up enough funds to add on to the house, building a nursery for our new addition. I decorated it in whites and cream yellows, with a bit of a safari theme. Some days I would go in there and sit for hours, daydreaming of the baby and what it would be like. What we would name it. Who they would turn out to be.

I didn’t let the pregnancy slow me down with my gardening, however. I was as big around as a balloon and still on my knees in the dirt, weeding and harvesting. Sunglow worried about me, but the doctors said it was good to remain active. So long as I didn’t do any heavy lifting I would be fine.

I was constantly craving sweets, though. I frequently traded in my autumn salad dinner for a nice, huge chunk of left-over wedding cake.

Or a carton of my favorite lemon-sherbet ice-cream.

The months passed, falling into an easy routine. And then, one night before bed, I felt the first ripples of pain across my abdomen.

“Oh . . . oh . . . OOOOOOH!”

Sunglow leapt to his feet somewhere behind me on the other side of the bed.

“Oh Berry, is it time?! Is it the baby?!”

The pain and hormones caused me to get a little snappy, I’m somewhat ashamed to admit. “No, Sunglow, I just remembered I left the faucet running! Of course it’s the baby!”

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, apparently choosing to ignore my temper. “Should we go to the hospital?”

I had decided a while ago that I’d rather have a home birth, so I shook my head in between panting for breath and moaning through the contractions. I think Sunglow kept talking behind me, but by then I was far too involved with the spasms of pain shooting through my body to pay attention to him.

It was a long, grueling labor, but in the end I had a beautiful treasure to show for it. My first born, my beautiful daughter. Honey Dew Palette.

((D’awwww! Isn’t she precious! I hope you enjoyed this installment, see ya tomorrow!))