Naquadah Tipped Warheads & Banana Smoothies ~ Over 16s ~ 5 of 11
Details, disclaimers and Part One here
Part Two here
Part Three here
Part Four here
Dowload the mp3 podcast for this chapter by clicking (right click to save) here
Please note the podcast contains swearing, but not much
Sunday July 6th - Maison d’Carter
Now listen to me, Jack. Don’t get mad, but I thought it was time, and I respect your ex-wife too much to risk her hearing the news by some back door method. I checked with personnel admin that Sara had been informed of your status but that’s all they could confirm because I’m not next of kin. I’m not quite sure how I stand (apart from awkwardly) regarding the *baby’s* relationship with you (i.e. a dependent’s) but I’m not discussing that with them just yet.
I wrote to her (she still stays in Cedar Heights, but I guess you know that) and said that I knew that she knew that you were MIA and that I felt that she should know that I was expecting your child. And the reason why I wanted for her to know.
Dear Ms Sara O’Neill,
Please excuse me from contacting you out of the blue like this but I have something that I wish to say to you and I thought this was the best way.
My name is Samantha Carter and we have met in person once before. I was the Captain that drove you back to the Cheyenne Mountain Complex in 1997 after the incident with the Charlie ‘spirit’. You were pretty much in shock but I got you coffee and kept you company while you waited for Jack to return and explain the situation.
I realize that it may be somewhat rude of me to approach you again after so much time has past. I am aware that you know that Jack is missing in action. I know this because I checked with the AF staff supervisor, who also gave me your address, I hope that is okay. I do not presume to know your feelings on this information but as I say there is something I wish you to know because I sincerely do not want for you to hear it by any other means that may be construed as unsuitable.
I should inform you that Jack and I have had a relationship as more than colleagues and indeed friends for about a year now. Before he left on the mission there was something that he didn’t know and that was that I am pregnant. I’m due at the end of October.
I understand that there is a strong possibility of me raising the child alone and I am fine with this. Not happy but accepting. If people ask who the father is, I will tell them the truth.
Having said that, I do not wish you to hear through military rumor control that I am expecting your ex-husband’s child. With all due respect, I do not know if you would care, but *I* care about your sensibilities, Sara. I was once close to Jack at a point where he was mortally wounded and I was humbled that his last words were those asking for you. I completely understand your continuing commitment to Jack and still wish you all the very best.
My very respectful wishes,
Samantha Carter.
I hope you are okay with what I have written.
It’s too bad if you are.
I sent it.
July 7th - SGC
Hey Jack,
Had my 24 week scan today, Carolyn performed it.
Everything is coming on well.
Would you like to know what goes on? I think that if you were here, you would have wanted to be involved and have come to all the appointments. I don’t think I’m wrong about that. Am I?
Firstly, I am weighed. During the early days, I actually lost weight, which worried me beyond rationality but I seem to be steadily gaining now. Then the bump is measured with a tape measure. Why do they do this? Actually, I have no idea, I must ask next time! I then lie down on the narrowest examination table I’ve ever had the misfortune to recline upon (which could be interesting the closer I get to term!) while Carolyn palpates my stomach to see how the baby is lying and that everything is where it should be.
This is the third ultrasound that I’ve had. The first, as you know was performed by Professor Lucy at 11 weeks, the second by the medical center midwife at Edwards AFB and then this one.
Still missing you missing all this,
Sam
xxxx
Wednesday July 11th - Colorado Springs home - 1809 hours
I had to update now - the baby is moving so much, Jack, it’s amazing!
I guess Sara must have told you what it was like when she was carrying Charlie. Well, if she told you it was like wind, she was right, hehehe. You feel just flutters and bubbles at first. In fact, I think I’d been conscious of the movements a week before I realized it was actually Baby and not the rigatoni I’d had the night before. When you first realize, you wait every waking moment for those bubbles - I’d have thought it would be too weird, like John-Hurt-in-Alien weird. But it becomes as natural as breathing quite quickly. Sometimes, if I’m relaxed and quiet, like at 0509 this morning, I can feel the gentle flickers through the skin of my stomach and if I look closely, I can see dimpling where our child is moving about inside me.
I have no idea why, but the baby seems to move around when I’m in my Volvo. I don’t know whether this is an indication of its distress at my driving! Ha-ha
Hang on, there’s someone at the door… brb.
***
Okay.
That was.. unexpected.
Jack, Sara just came to see me. She evidently got my letter.
I’m a bit in shock at seeing her after such a long time and, well Jack, she was so sweet!
I know you haven’t really spoken of her but I remember every time you have, it was in the most respectful of ways. She deserves it. Actually, sweet is a dumb word to use, she was warm-hearted, understanding and generous.
Basically she thanked me for my letter and gave me a huge bag full of Charlie’s old stuff.
She said that you wouldn’t mind and that you would be glad that it was being used. Did you know she had kept it? There’s loads! Blankets, PJs, onesies. She said that there was no obligation to use it, but I told her that I would be honored to have anything of Charlie’s. She said that she won’t ask for any of it back, so I can pass it on or keep it if I want.
She apologized that almost all of the clothes are really for boys and asked me if I knew the sex of the baby.
I replied that I did :D
She gave me a hug, left me her business card and asked if I had any family around to help.
Crap. I really, really need to talk to Mark.
Friday July 13th - SGC
Jack,
Very quickly.
I thought hard about Sara’s visit and Mark.
I called him last night, secured five days leave over the weekend, and I’m booked on a flight to San Diego International tonight, right after work.
I’m so nervous. You see, he doesn’t even know about you, let alone a mini-you.
TTYL
Sam
Xxxxx
Saturday July 14th - Carter residence, San Diego
Here.
Nerves wrung out.
Why is it that families can be so DAMN HARD?!
Sunday July 15th - Carter residence, San Diego
Okay Jack, let me explain that last entry.
After a whole lot of guilty soul searching, I resolved to ‘fess up to Mark. Everything. I acknowledge that we haven’t had the closest of relationships, but after all, he’s the only family I’ve got left and he’s had to put up with more than a few MIA notices in the past, both Carter Snr and Jnr.
I call him up, ask if I can stay the weekend and he picks himself up off the floor and says; “Come on down, lil’ sis’.”
He has no idea.
So, I’m booked on the red eye to San Diego. Yeah, I know, not the best idea in my ‘delicate’ state but it was all last minute dot com (actually Southwest Airlines, but you get the idea). I do pretty well on the flight. The attendant looks at me closely and makes sure I have plenty of barf bags. Gee, thanks honey, pass the chicken-on-rye on your way back.
I’ve told Mark *not* to pick me up from the airport. There are two reasons for this. The first one, which I tell him, is that it’s way too early for him to be collecting me; I’ll grab a cab, no sweat. The second is that if you think that I am stalling confronting him with my bump, you’d be right. The fact that it is actually raining in California is a great excuse to wear my Mac. My voluminous Mac. My voluminous Mac that does a great job of hiding excess poundage.
The airport security guard got a bit of a surprise when she patted me down for sure ;D
So I turn up outside his home, complete with baggage of several varieties, both physical and mental, the smallest being my case - I guess all those off-world packs have ensured I travel light whenever I can. He’s seen me from the window and he’s at the door, pulling me out of the soft drizzle that can only be of the Californian kind. He hugs me, and I kinda ensure I’m leaning away.
What was *wrong* with me?!
Why do I not want my own brother to know that I am pregnant? He’s standing right in front of me!
He’s yakkity-yak... the kids are due later - both are at Saturday swim club, he calls for Susan who’s in the kitchen, he asks me if I’ve seen Pete lately, and hey, take my coat off and have a cup of coffee.
I’m seriously chickening out.
I turn my back to him to unbutton my Mac. Damn, my fingers won’t work properly; it must be that non-existent chill in the air. I manage to get my coat on the coat hook peeking out from the hall closet and smooth down my maternity blouse.
Turning around was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do outside of work. Fifth grade dance class was way easier than facing my own brother with the truth.
It didn’t go well.
“Jesus Christ!” Mark fixated upon my stomach. “You’re pregnant!”
“I know,” I replied.
He gestured. “Oh my God! Is that Pete’s?!” He practically shouted. Susan by this time had appeared from the kitchen wiping her hands on a cloth.
I am calm. Not.
“What? No! I haven’t seen Pete for months, since Dad’s funeral.”
Mark has his hands on his hips and bizarrely, I get a vision of dad standing in the kitchen of our old house, fuming over something. “Since you dumped him you mean!”
I don’t know what to say. I suddenly feel extraordinarily protective over our child.
Mark is still gaping and Susan is still hovering. “I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone.”
At least I could tell the truth at this point. “I’m not; it’s complicated.” I begin to finger my coat sleeve hanging in the closet that I haven’t quite moved away from.
A look comes over Mark’s face, something quite alien... a sneer. “Is that some nameless sperm bank’s kid?”
“What?! No! It’s not like that. I mean... the baby’s father is... Jack O’Neill.”
My brother laughs in my face. “Your CO?! You screwed your *boss*? And I thought you were supposed to be so damn smart. You stupid bitch! You screwed your boss, and what? He knocked you up and the AF dropped you like a stone and where the hell is he?”
I hate him. I hate you. I hate myself.
“Huh? Where is he to look after his *bastard*?”
That was it.
I wrench my coat out of the open closest, grab my case, and was out of the front door before he and his insults could follow me.
It’s now actually raining, I’m blundering out into a San Diego suburb that I don’t know that well, and - yes! - the cab driver that dropped me from the airport is still parked near the sidewalk. I wave frantically and ignore my name being called.
“Sam!”
“SAM!”
“Please! Stop!”
It’s not Mark... it’s Susan. My hand is on the wet cab door handle, I pull it open and the driver is watching us with that amused indifferent look that only cab drivers can employ.
An umbrella appears over my head and a warm hand covers my own wet one that is clutching my case. “Sam, please, it’s my house too, and you are welcome here; Mark can be so tactless sometimes.”
I linger over the flight or fight. “I’m sick of this crap,” I mutter. I want to go home. I want to go to bed. I want to go to sleep and pretend that it is all not happening.
“I know, well, he’s a man, what can you expect? Being an asshole is inbred onto the Y chromosome.”
I still can’t decide.
The cab driver’s gruff tones called through the open window ruin the moment. “Look, lady... *ladies*, as much as this is all very touching, I-“
“Shut the hell up, can’t you see she’s upset and pregnant and everything?!”
Way to go Susan. My head is so heavy; I hang it down and close my eyes.
“Sam, please come in, I’m sorry. I’m an asshole.” Mark’s voice. Contrite. Concerned.
“I told her that already.” Susan. Triumphant. Knowing.
“Sorry,” I mumble to the cab driver, slam the door and turn around. As the cab moves off, a roar of disgust coming from the muffler, Mark takes my case and Susan holds my arm and by the time I get to their porch, I’m sobbing like a crazy woman. They practically pour me onto the sofa where Susan covers me with an afghan and Mark hugs me like he did after Dad died.
It takes me ages to get to the hiccoughing stage.
But then I calmly explain how I’ve got to this point and how determined I am to carry on and be the best mom I can be, hopefully continuing my career as much as practicable (leaving out the part about cosmic wormhole travel).
Mark is full of questions. What is the AF doing regarding S&R? Is the Taliban involved? Al-Qaeda? (He assumes you’re in Afghanistan or Iraq and I am careful to neither confirm nor deny his suspicions - I HATE lying to them, but I know that you know it’s for their own safety). Have I had all my medical checks? Does Pete know?
Damn, I haven’t even given Pete Shanahan a second thought for months.
Fortunately, I am saved by the Junior Carters who burst in full of youth, exuberance, and chlorine. Shannon doesn’t even notice me at first; she gained her one mile distance swim and is high on Life. Susan is thrilled and laughing and then gestures towards me. “Hey! Say hi to Auntie Sam, and some great news; she’s having a baby!”
Bless you, Susan, announce it from the rooftops and it doesn’t seem so... shameful.
Shannon is all over me then, hugging and touching and ‘Can I feel it move?’ and ‘Can I see your tummy?’ Steve is hanging back, a bit embarrassed by his sister’s enthusiasm, perhaps?
“Steve, come and say hi - did you hear what I said? Auntie Sam is having a baby,” Susan is patient and benign. Will I ever be like that?
Steven grunts, nods his head in my direction, and clomps up the stairs.
Susan rolls her eyes and sighs in Mark’s direction. Mark winks back. “He’s talkative today,” he quips. So like Dad. And whether he likes it or not, Steve is the fair spit of him at the same age.
Shannon wants to know everything, so I dig out my ultrasound images and she’s expertly pointing out the spine, the skull, and something that resembles a duck. Susan is smirking; teasing Shannon that she’s far too maternal at 13 and that she’ll be looking up chastity belts on eBay later. Shannon wants to know what a chastity belt is and Mark laughs his ass off at Susan’s red face. Shannon flounces off to take out her braids with one of those looks that says; ‘I know what you meant all along’. I notice her hair is like mine was at the same age. It’s so normal, so family. For a moment, I felt part of a family and I haven’t felt that since I was Shannon’s age. Mark is so incredibly lucky and I don’t think he even realizes.
This morning I went to Mass with everyone and I am relieved to say no thunderbolts tried to shoot me down when I stepped across the threshold. Yeah, you know it’s been a while.
I’ve gotta go now, Mark is taking me to the airport and I need to pack.
Catch you flipside!
Sam
xxxxx
Part 5 - Without swearing or blasphemy
Sunday July 6th - Maison d’Carter
Now listen to me, Jack. Don’t get mad, but I thought it was time, and I respect your ex-wife too much to risk her hearing the news by some back door method. I checked with personnel admin that Sara had been informed of your status but that’s all they could confirm because I’m not next of kin. I’m not quite sure how I stand (apart from awkwardly) regarding the *baby’s* relationship with you (i.e. a dependent’s) but I’m not discussing that with them just yet.
I wrote to her (she still stays in Cedar Heights, but I guess you know that) and said that I knew that she knew that you were MIA and that I felt that she should know that I was expecting your child. And the reason why I wanted for her to know.
Dear Ms Sara O’Neill,
Please excuse me from contacting you out of the blue like this but I have something that I wish to say to you and I thought this was the best way.
My name is Samantha Carter and we have met in person once before. I was the Captain that drove you back to the Cheyenne Mountain Complex in 1997 after the incident with the Charlie ‘spirit’. You were pretty much in shock but I got you coffee and kept you company while you waited for Jack to return and explain the situation.
I realize that it may be somewhat rude of me to approach you again after so much time has past. I am aware that you know that Jack is missing in action. I know this because I checked with the AF staff supervisor, who also gave me your address, I hope that is okay. I do not presume to know your feelings on this information but as I say there is something I wish you to know because I sincerely do not want for you to hear it by any other means that may be construed as unsuitable.
I should inform you that Jack and I have had a relationship as more than colleagues and indeed friends for about a year now. Before he left on the mission there was something that he didn’t know and that was that I am pregnant. I’m due at the end of October.
I understand that there is a strong possibility of me raising the child alone and I am fine with this. Not happy but accepting. If people ask who the father is, I will tell them the truth.
Having said that, I do not wish you to hear through military rumor control that I am expecting your ex-husband’s child. With all due respect, I do not know if you would care, but *I* care about your sensibilities, Sara. I was once close to Jack at a point where he was mortally wounded and I was humbled that his last words were those asking for you. I completely understand your continuing commitment to Jack and still wish you all the very best.
My very respectful wishes,
Samantha Carter.
I hope you are okay with what I have written.
It’s too bad if you are.
I sent it.
July 7th - SGC
Hey Jack,
Had my 24 week scan today, Carolyn performed it.
Everything is coming on well.
Would you like to know what goes on? I think that if you were here, you would have wanted to be involved and have come to all the appointments. I don’t think I’m wrong about that. Am I?
Firstly, I am weighed. During the early days, I actually lost weight, which worried me beyond rationality but I seem to be steadily gaining now. Then the bump is measured with a tape measure. Why do they do this? Actually, I have no idea, I must ask next time! I then lie down on the narrowest examination table I’ve ever had the misfortune to recline upon (which could be interesting the closer I get to term!) while Carolyn palpates my stomach to see how the baby is lying and that everything is where it should be.
This is the third ultrasound that I’ve had. The first, as you know was performed by Professor Lucy at 11 weeks, the second by the medical center midwife at Edwards AFB and then this one.
Still missing you missing all this,
Sam
xxxx
Wednesday July 11th - Colorado Springs home - 1809 hours
I had to update now - the baby is moving so much, Jack, it’s amazing!
I guess Sara must have told you what it was like when she was carrying Charlie. Well, if she told you it was like wind, she was right, hehehe. You feel just flutters and bubbles at first. In fact, I think I’d been conscious of the movements a week before I realized it was actually Baby and not the rigatoni I’d had the night before. When you first realize, you wait every waking moment for those bubbles - I’d have thought it would be too weird, like John-Hurt-in-Alien weird. But it becomes as natural as breathing quite quickly. Sometimes, if I’m relaxed and quiet, like at 0509 this morning, I can feel the gentle flickers through the skin of my stomach and if I look closely, I can see dimpling where our child is moving about inside me.
I have no idea why, but the baby seems to move around when I’m in my Volvo. I don’t know whether this is an indication of its distress at my driving! Ha-ha
Hang on, there’s someone at the door… brb.
***
Okay.
That was.. unexpected.
Jack, Sara just came to see me. She evidently got my letter.
I’m a bit in shock at seeing her after such a long time and, well Jack, she was so sweet!
I know you haven’t really spoken of her but I remember every time you have, it was in the most respectful of ways. She deserves it. Actually, sweet is a dumb word to use, she was warm-hearted, understanding and generous.
Basically she thanked me for my letter and gave me a huge bag full of Charlie’s old stuff.
She said that you wouldn’t mind and that you would be glad that it was being used. Did you know she had kept it? There’s loads! Blankets, PJs, onesies. She said that there was no obligation to use it, but I told her that I would be honored to have anything of Charlie’s. She said that she won’t ask for any of it back, so I can pass it on or keep it if I want.
She apologized that almost all of the clothes are really for boys and asked me if I knew the sex of the baby.
I replied that I did :D
She gave me a hug, left me her business card, and asked if I had any family around to help.
Crap. I really, really need to talk to Mark.
Friday July 13th - SGC
Jack,
Very quickly.
I thought hard about Sara’s visit and Mark.
I called him last night, secured five days leave over the weekend, and I’m booked on a flight to San Diego International tonight, right after work.
I’m so nervous. You see, he doesn’t even know about you, let alone a mini-you.
TTYL
Sam
Xxxxx
Saturday July 14th - Carter residence, San Diego
Here.
Nerves wrung out.
Why is it that families can be so DAMN HARD?!
Sunday July 15th - Carter residence, San Diego
Okay Jack, let me explain that last entry.
After a whole lot of guilty soul searching, I resolved to ‘fess up to Mark. Everything. I acknowledge that we haven’t had the closest of relationships, but after all, he’s the only family I’ve got left and he’s had to put up with more than a few MIA notices in the past, both Carter Snr and Jnr.
I call him up, ask if I can stay the weekend and he picks himself up off the floor and says; “Come on down, lil’ sis’.”
He has no idea.
So, I’m booked on the red eye to San Diego. Yeah, I know, not the best idea in my ‘delicate’ state but it was all last minute dot com (actually Southwest Airlines, but you get the idea). I do pretty well on the flight. The attendant looks at me closely and makes sure I have plenty of barf bags. Gee, thanks honey, pass the chicken-on-rye on your way back.
I’ve told Mark *not* to pick me up from the airport. There are two reasons for this. The first one, which I tell him, is that it’s way too early for him to be collecting me; I’ll grab a cab, no sweat. The second is that if you think that I am stalling confronting him with my bump, you’d be right. The fact that it is actually raining in California is a great excuse to wear my Mac. My voluminous Mac. My voluminous Mac that does a great job of hiding excess poundage.
The airport security guard got a bit of a surprise when she patted me down for sure ;D
So I turn up outside his home, complete with baggage of several varieties, both physical and mental, the smallest being my case - I guess all those off-world packs have ensured I travel light whenever I can. He’s seen me from the window and he’s at the door, pulling me out of the soft drizzle that can only be of the Californian kind. He hugs me, and I kinda ensure I’m leaning away.
What was *wrong* with me?!
Why do I not want my own brother to know that I am pregnant? He’s standing right in front of me!
He’s yakkity-yak... the kids are due later - both are at Saturday swim club, he calls for Susan who’s in the kitchen, he asks me if I’ve seen Pete lately, and hey, take my coat off and have a cup of coffee.
I’m seriously chickening out.
I turn my back to him to unbutton my Mac. Damn, my fingers won’t work properly; it must be that non-existent chill in the air. I manage to get my coat on the coat hook peeking out from the hall closet and smooth down my maternity blouse.
Turning around was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do outside of work. Fifth grade dance class was way easier than facing my own brother with the truth.
It didn’t go well.
Mark gasped and fixated upon my stomach. “You’re pregnant!”
“I know,” I replied.
He gestured. “Is that Pete’s?!” He practically shouted. Susan by this time had appeared from the kitchen wiping her hands on a cloth.
I am calm. Not.
“What? No! I haven’t seen Pete for months, since Dad’s funeral.”
Mark has his hands on his hips and bizarrely, I get a vision of dad standing in the kitchen of our old house, fuming over something. “Since you dumped him you mean!”
I don’t know what to say. I suddenly feel extraordinarily protective over our child.
Mark is still gaping and Susan is still hovering. “I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone.”
At least I could tell the truth at this point. “I’m not; it’s complicated.” I begin to finger my coat sleeve hanging in the closet that I haven’t quite moved away from.
A look comes over Mark’s face, something quite alien... a sneer. “Is that some nameless sperm bank’s kid?”
“What?! No! It’s not like that. I mean... the baby’s father is... Jack O’Neill.”
My brother laughs in my face. “Your CO?! You screwed your *boss*? And I thought you were supposed to be so damn smart. You so stupid! You screwed your boss, and what? He knocked you up and the AF dropped you like a stone and where the hell is he?”
I hate him. I hate you. I hate myself.
“Huh? Where is he? DUMPED YOU?”
That was it.
I wrench my coat out of the open closest, grab my case, and was out of the front door before he and his insults could follow me.
It’s now actually raining, I’m blundering out into a San Diego suburb that I don’t know that well, and - yes! - the cab driver that dropped me from the airport is still parked near the sidewalk. I wave frantically and ignore my name being called.
“Sam!”
“SAM!”
“Please! Stop!”
It’s not Mark... it’s Susan. My hand is on the wet cab door handle, I pull it open and the driver is watching us with that amused indifferent look that only cab drivers can employ.
An umbrella appears over my head and a warm hand covers my own wet one that is clutching my case. “Sam, please, it’s my house too, and you are welcome here; Mark can be so tactless sometimes.”
I linger over the flight or fight. “I’m sick of this crap,” I mutter. I want to go home. I want to go to bed. I want to go to sleep and pretend that it is all not happening.
“I know, well, he’s a man, what can you expect? Being an asshole is inbred onto the Y chromosome.”
I still can’t decide.
The cab driver’s gruff tones called through the open window ruin the moment. “Look, lady... *ladies*, as much as this is all very touching, I-“
“Shut the heck up, can’t you see she’s upset and pregnant and everything?!”
Way to go Susan. My head is so heavy; I hang it down and close my eyes.
“Sam, please come in, I’m sorry. I’m an asshole.” Mark’s voice. Contrite. Concerned.
“I told her that already.” Susan. Triumphant. Knowing.
“Sorry,” I mumble to the cab driver, slam the door and turn around. As the cab moves off, a roar of disgust coming from the muffler, Mark takes my case and Susan holds my arm and by the time I get to their porch, I’m sobbing like a crazy woman. They practically pour me onto the sofa where Susan covers me with an afghan and Mark hugs me like he did after Dad died.
It takes me ages to get to the hiccoughing stage.
But then I calmly explain how I’ve got to this point and how determined I am to carry on and be the best mom I can be, hopefully continuing my career as much as practicable (leaving out the part about cosmic wormhole travel).
Mark is full of questions. What is the AF doing regarding S&R? Is the Taliban involved? Al-Qaeda? (He assumes you’re in Afghanistan or Iraq and I am careful to neither confirm nor deny his suspicions - I HATE lying to them, but I know that you know it’s for their own safety). Have I had all my medical checks? Does Pete know?
Damn, I haven’t even given Pete Shanahan a second thought for months.
Fortunately, I am saved by the Junior Carters who burst in full of youth, exuberance, and chlorine. Shannon doesn’t even notice me at first; she gained her one mile distance swim and is high on Life. Susan is thrilled and laughing and then gestures towards me. “Hey! Say hi to Auntie Sam, and some great news; she’s having a baby!”
Bless you, Susan, announce it from the rooftops and it doesn’t seem so... shameful.
Shannon is all over me then, hugging and touching and ‘Can I feel it move?’ and ‘Can I see your tummy?’ Steve is hanging back, a bit embarrassed by his sister’s enthusiasm, perhaps?
“Steve, come and say hi - did you hear what I said? Auntie Sam is having a baby,” Susan is patient and benign. Will I ever be like that?
Steven grunts, nods his head in my direction, and clomps up the stairs.
Susan rolls her eyes and sighs in Mark’s direction. Mark winks back. “He’s talkative today,” he quips. So like Dad. And whether he likes it or not, Steve is the fair spit of him at the same age.
Shannon wants to know everything, so I dig out my ultrasound images and she’s expertly pointing out the spine, the skull, and something that resembles a duck. Susan is smirking; teasing Shannon that she’s far too maternal at 13 and that she’ll be looking up chastity belts on eBay later. Shannon wants to know what a chastity belt is and Mark laughs his ass off at Susan’s red face. Shannon flounces off to take out her braids with one of those looks that says; ‘I know what you meant all along’. I notice her hair is like mine was at the same age. It’s so normal, so family. For a moment, I felt part of a family and I haven’t felt that since I was Shannon’s age. Mark is so incredibly lucky and I don’t think he even realizes.
This morning I went to Mass with everyone and I am relieved to say no thunderbolts tried to shoot me down when I stepped across the threshold. Yeah, you know it’s been a while.
I’ve gotta go now, Mark is taking me to the airport and I need to pack.
Catch you flipside!
Sam
xxxxx
Part Two here
Part Three here
Part Four here
Dowload the mp3 podcast for this chapter by clicking (right click to save) here
Please note the podcast contains swearing, but not much
Sunday July 6th - Maison d’Carter
Now listen to me, Jack. Don’t get mad, but I thought it was time, and I respect your ex-wife too much to risk her hearing the news by some back door method. I checked with personnel admin that Sara had been informed of your status but that’s all they could confirm because I’m not next of kin. I’m not quite sure how I stand (apart from awkwardly) regarding the *baby’s* relationship with you (i.e. a dependent’s) but I’m not discussing that with them just yet.
I wrote to her (she still stays in Cedar Heights, but I guess you know that) and said that I knew that she knew that you were MIA and that I felt that she should know that I was expecting your child. And the reason why I wanted for her to know.
Dear Ms Sara O’Neill,
Please excuse me from contacting you out of the blue like this but I have something that I wish to say to you and I thought this was the best way.
My name is Samantha Carter and we have met in person once before. I was the Captain that drove you back to the Cheyenne Mountain Complex in 1997 after the incident with the Charlie ‘spirit’. You were pretty much in shock but I got you coffee and kept you company while you waited for Jack to return and explain the situation.
I realize that it may be somewhat rude of me to approach you again after so much time has past. I am aware that you know that Jack is missing in action. I know this because I checked with the AF staff supervisor, who also gave me your address, I hope that is okay. I do not presume to know your feelings on this information but as I say there is something I wish you to know because I sincerely do not want for you to hear it by any other means that may be construed as unsuitable.
I should inform you that Jack and I have had a relationship as more than colleagues and indeed friends for about a year now. Before he left on the mission there was something that he didn’t know and that was that I am pregnant. I’m due at the end of October.
I understand that there is a strong possibility of me raising the child alone and I am fine with this. Not happy but accepting. If people ask who the father is, I will tell them the truth.
Having said that, I do not wish you to hear through military rumor control that I am expecting your ex-husband’s child. With all due respect, I do not know if you would care, but *I* care about your sensibilities, Sara. I was once close to Jack at a point where he was mortally wounded and I was humbled that his last words were those asking for you. I completely understand your continuing commitment to Jack and still wish you all the very best.
My very respectful wishes,
Samantha Carter.
I hope you are okay with what I have written.
It’s too bad if you are.
I sent it.
July 7th - SGC
Hey Jack,
Had my 24 week scan today, Carolyn performed it.
Everything is coming on well.
Would you like to know what goes on? I think that if you were here, you would have wanted to be involved and have come to all the appointments. I don’t think I’m wrong about that. Am I?
Firstly, I am weighed. During the early days, I actually lost weight, which worried me beyond rationality but I seem to be steadily gaining now. Then the bump is measured with a tape measure. Why do they do this? Actually, I have no idea, I must ask next time! I then lie down on the narrowest examination table I’ve ever had the misfortune to recline upon (which could be interesting the closer I get to term!) while Carolyn palpates my stomach to see how the baby is lying and that everything is where it should be.
This is the third ultrasound that I’ve had. The first, as you know was performed by Professor Lucy at 11 weeks, the second by the medical center midwife at Edwards AFB and then this one.
Still missing you missing all this,
Sam
xxxx
Wednesday July 11th - Colorado Springs home - 1809 hours
I had to update now - the baby is moving so much, Jack, it’s amazing!
I guess Sara must have told you what it was like when she was carrying Charlie. Well, if she told you it was like wind, she was right, hehehe. You feel just flutters and bubbles at first. In fact, I think I’d been conscious of the movements a week before I realized it was actually Baby and not the rigatoni I’d had the night before. When you first realize, you wait every waking moment for those bubbles - I’d have thought it would be too weird, like John-Hurt-in-Alien weird. But it becomes as natural as breathing quite quickly. Sometimes, if I’m relaxed and quiet, like at 0509 this morning, I can feel the gentle flickers through the skin of my stomach and if I look closely, I can see dimpling where our child is moving about inside me.
I have no idea why, but the baby seems to move around when I’m in my Volvo. I don’t know whether this is an indication of its distress at my driving! Ha-ha
Hang on, there’s someone at the door… brb.
***
Okay.
That was.. unexpected.
Jack, Sara just came to see me. She evidently got my letter.
I’m a bit in shock at seeing her after such a long time and, well Jack, she was so sweet!
I know you haven’t really spoken of her but I remember every time you have, it was in the most respectful of ways. She deserves it. Actually, sweet is a dumb word to use, she was warm-hearted, understanding and generous.
Basically she thanked me for my letter and gave me a huge bag full of Charlie’s old stuff.
She said that you wouldn’t mind and that you would be glad that it was being used. Did you know she had kept it? There’s loads! Blankets, PJs, onesies. She said that there was no obligation to use it, but I told her that I would be honored to have anything of Charlie’s. She said that she won’t ask for any of it back, so I can pass it on or keep it if I want.
She apologized that almost all of the clothes are really for boys and asked me if I knew the sex of the baby.
I replied that I did :D
She gave me a hug, left me her business card and asked if I had any family around to help.
Crap. I really, really need to talk to Mark.
Friday July 13th - SGC
Jack,
Very quickly.
I thought hard about Sara’s visit and Mark.
I called him last night, secured five days leave over the weekend, and I’m booked on a flight to San Diego International tonight, right after work.
I’m so nervous. You see, he doesn’t even know about you, let alone a mini-you.
TTYL
Sam
Xxxxx
Saturday July 14th - Carter residence, San Diego
Here.
Nerves wrung out.
Why is it that families can be so DAMN HARD?!
Sunday July 15th - Carter residence, San Diego
Okay Jack, let me explain that last entry.
After a whole lot of guilty soul searching, I resolved to ‘fess up to Mark. Everything. I acknowledge that we haven’t had the closest of relationships, but after all, he’s the only family I’ve got left and he’s had to put up with more than a few MIA notices in the past, both Carter Snr and Jnr.
I call him up, ask if I can stay the weekend and he picks himself up off the floor and says; “Come on down, lil’ sis’.”
He has no idea.
So, I’m booked on the red eye to San Diego. Yeah, I know, not the best idea in my ‘delicate’ state but it was all last minute dot com (actually Southwest Airlines, but you get the idea). I do pretty well on the flight. The attendant looks at me closely and makes sure I have plenty of barf bags. Gee, thanks honey, pass the chicken-on-rye on your way back.
I’ve told Mark *not* to pick me up from the airport. There are two reasons for this. The first one, which I tell him, is that it’s way too early for him to be collecting me; I’ll grab a cab, no sweat. The second is that if you think that I am stalling confronting him with my bump, you’d be right. The fact that it is actually raining in California is a great excuse to wear my Mac. My voluminous Mac. My voluminous Mac that does a great job of hiding excess poundage.
The airport security guard got a bit of a surprise when she patted me down for sure ;D
So I turn up outside his home, complete with baggage of several varieties, both physical and mental, the smallest being my case - I guess all those off-world packs have ensured I travel light whenever I can. He’s seen me from the window and he’s at the door, pulling me out of the soft drizzle that can only be of the Californian kind. He hugs me, and I kinda ensure I’m leaning away.
What was *wrong* with me?!
Why do I not want my own brother to know that I am pregnant? He’s standing right in front of me!
He’s yakkity-yak... the kids are due later - both are at Saturday swim club, he calls for Susan who’s in the kitchen, he asks me if I’ve seen Pete lately, and hey, take my coat off and have a cup of coffee.
I’m seriously chickening out.
I turn my back to him to unbutton my Mac. Damn, my fingers won’t work properly; it must be that non-existent chill in the air. I manage to get my coat on the coat hook peeking out from the hall closet and smooth down my maternity blouse.
Turning around was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do outside of work. Fifth grade dance class was way easier than facing my own brother with the truth.
It didn’t go well.
“Jesus Christ!” Mark fixated upon my stomach. “You’re pregnant!”
“I know,” I replied.
He gestured. “Oh my God! Is that Pete’s?!” He practically shouted. Susan by this time had appeared from the kitchen wiping her hands on a cloth.
I am calm. Not.
“What? No! I haven’t seen Pete for months, since Dad’s funeral.”
Mark has his hands on his hips and bizarrely, I get a vision of dad standing in the kitchen of our old house, fuming over something. “Since you dumped him you mean!”
I don’t know what to say. I suddenly feel extraordinarily protective over our child.
Mark is still gaping and Susan is still hovering. “I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone.”
At least I could tell the truth at this point. “I’m not; it’s complicated.” I begin to finger my coat sleeve hanging in the closet that I haven’t quite moved away from.
A look comes over Mark’s face, something quite alien... a sneer. “Is that some nameless sperm bank’s kid?”
“What?! No! It’s not like that. I mean... the baby’s father is... Jack O’Neill.”
My brother laughs in my face. “Your CO?! You screwed your *boss*? And I thought you were supposed to be so damn smart. You stupid bitch! You screwed your boss, and what? He knocked you up and the AF dropped you like a stone and where the hell is he?”
I hate him. I hate you. I hate myself.
“Huh? Where is he to look after his *bastard*?”
That was it.
I wrench my coat out of the open closest, grab my case, and was out of the front door before he and his insults could follow me.
It’s now actually raining, I’m blundering out into a San Diego suburb that I don’t know that well, and - yes! - the cab driver that dropped me from the airport is still parked near the sidewalk. I wave frantically and ignore my name being called.
“Sam!”
“SAM!”
“Please! Stop!”
It’s not Mark... it’s Susan. My hand is on the wet cab door handle, I pull it open and the driver is watching us with that amused indifferent look that only cab drivers can employ.
An umbrella appears over my head and a warm hand covers my own wet one that is clutching my case. “Sam, please, it’s my house too, and you are welcome here; Mark can be so tactless sometimes.”
I linger over the flight or fight. “I’m sick of this crap,” I mutter. I want to go home. I want to go to bed. I want to go to sleep and pretend that it is all not happening.
“I know, well, he’s a man, what can you expect? Being an asshole is inbred onto the Y chromosome.”
I still can’t decide.
The cab driver’s gruff tones called through the open window ruin the moment. “Look, lady... *ladies*, as much as this is all very touching, I-“
“Shut the hell up, can’t you see she’s upset and pregnant and everything?!”
Way to go Susan. My head is so heavy; I hang it down and close my eyes.
“Sam, please come in, I’m sorry. I’m an asshole.” Mark’s voice. Contrite. Concerned.
“I told her that already.” Susan. Triumphant. Knowing.
“Sorry,” I mumble to the cab driver, slam the door and turn around. As the cab moves off, a roar of disgust coming from the muffler, Mark takes my case and Susan holds my arm and by the time I get to their porch, I’m sobbing like a crazy woman. They practically pour me onto the sofa where Susan covers me with an afghan and Mark hugs me like he did after Dad died.
It takes me ages to get to the hiccoughing stage.
But then I calmly explain how I’ve got to this point and how determined I am to carry on and be the best mom I can be, hopefully continuing my career as much as practicable (leaving out the part about cosmic wormhole travel).
Mark is full of questions. What is the AF doing regarding S&R? Is the Taliban involved? Al-Qaeda? (He assumes you’re in Afghanistan or Iraq and I am careful to neither confirm nor deny his suspicions - I HATE lying to them, but I know that you know it’s for their own safety). Have I had all my medical checks? Does Pete know?
Damn, I haven’t even given Pete Shanahan a second thought for months.
Fortunately, I am saved by the Junior Carters who burst in full of youth, exuberance, and chlorine. Shannon doesn’t even notice me at first; she gained her one mile distance swim and is high on Life. Susan is thrilled and laughing and then gestures towards me. “Hey! Say hi to Auntie Sam, and some great news; she’s having a baby!”
Bless you, Susan, announce it from the rooftops and it doesn’t seem so... shameful.
Shannon is all over me then, hugging and touching and ‘Can I feel it move?’ and ‘Can I see your tummy?’ Steve is hanging back, a bit embarrassed by his sister’s enthusiasm, perhaps?
“Steve, come and say hi - did you hear what I said? Auntie Sam is having a baby,” Susan is patient and benign. Will I ever be like that?
Steven grunts, nods his head in my direction, and clomps up the stairs.
Susan rolls her eyes and sighs in Mark’s direction. Mark winks back. “He’s talkative today,” he quips. So like Dad. And whether he likes it or not, Steve is the fair spit of him at the same age.
Shannon wants to know everything, so I dig out my ultrasound images and she’s expertly pointing out the spine, the skull, and something that resembles a duck. Susan is smirking; teasing Shannon that she’s far too maternal at 13 and that she’ll be looking up chastity belts on eBay later. Shannon wants to know what a chastity belt is and Mark laughs his ass off at Susan’s red face. Shannon flounces off to take out her braids with one of those looks that says; ‘I know what you meant all along’. I notice her hair is like mine was at the same age. It’s so normal, so family. For a moment, I felt part of a family and I haven’t felt that since I was Shannon’s age. Mark is so incredibly lucky and I don’t think he even realizes.
This morning I went to Mass with everyone and I am relieved to say no thunderbolts tried to shoot me down when I stepped across the threshold. Yeah, you know it’s been a while.
I’ve gotta go now, Mark is taking me to the airport and I need to pack.
Catch you flipside!
Sam
xxxxx
Part 5 - Without swearing or blasphemy
Sunday July 6th - Maison d’Carter
Now listen to me, Jack. Don’t get mad, but I thought it was time, and I respect your ex-wife too much to risk her hearing the news by some back door method. I checked with personnel admin that Sara had been informed of your status but that’s all they could confirm because I’m not next of kin. I’m not quite sure how I stand (apart from awkwardly) regarding the *baby’s* relationship with you (i.e. a dependent’s) but I’m not discussing that with them just yet.
I wrote to her (she still stays in Cedar Heights, but I guess you know that) and said that I knew that she knew that you were MIA and that I felt that she should know that I was expecting your child. And the reason why I wanted for her to know.
Dear Ms Sara O’Neill,
Please excuse me from contacting you out of the blue like this but I have something that I wish to say to you and I thought this was the best way.
My name is Samantha Carter and we have met in person once before. I was the Captain that drove you back to the Cheyenne Mountain Complex in 1997 after the incident with the Charlie ‘spirit’. You were pretty much in shock but I got you coffee and kept you company while you waited for Jack to return and explain the situation.
I realize that it may be somewhat rude of me to approach you again after so much time has past. I am aware that you know that Jack is missing in action. I know this because I checked with the AF staff supervisor, who also gave me your address, I hope that is okay. I do not presume to know your feelings on this information but as I say there is something I wish you to know because I sincerely do not want for you to hear it by any other means that may be construed as unsuitable.
I should inform you that Jack and I have had a relationship as more than colleagues and indeed friends for about a year now. Before he left on the mission there was something that he didn’t know and that was that I am pregnant. I’m due at the end of October.
I understand that there is a strong possibility of me raising the child alone and I am fine with this. Not happy but accepting. If people ask who the father is, I will tell them the truth.
Having said that, I do not wish you to hear through military rumor control that I am expecting your ex-husband’s child. With all due respect, I do not know if you would care, but *I* care about your sensibilities, Sara. I was once close to Jack at a point where he was mortally wounded and I was humbled that his last words were those asking for you. I completely understand your continuing commitment to Jack and still wish you all the very best.
My very respectful wishes,
Samantha Carter.
I hope you are okay with what I have written.
It’s too bad if you are.
I sent it.
July 7th - SGC
Hey Jack,
Had my 24 week scan today, Carolyn performed it.
Everything is coming on well.
Would you like to know what goes on? I think that if you were here, you would have wanted to be involved and have come to all the appointments. I don’t think I’m wrong about that. Am I?
Firstly, I am weighed. During the early days, I actually lost weight, which worried me beyond rationality but I seem to be steadily gaining now. Then the bump is measured with a tape measure. Why do they do this? Actually, I have no idea, I must ask next time! I then lie down on the narrowest examination table I’ve ever had the misfortune to recline upon (which could be interesting the closer I get to term!) while Carolyn palpates my stomach to see how the baby is lying and that everything is where it should be.
This is the third ultrasound that I’ve had. The first, as you know was performed by Professor Lucy at 11 weeks, the second by the medical center midwife at Edwards AFB and then this one.
Still missing you missing all this,
Sam
xxxx
Wednesday July 11th - Colorado Springs home - 1809 hours
I had to update now - the baby is moving so much, Jack, it’s amazing!
I guess Sara must have told you what it was like when she was carrying Charlie. Well, if she told you it was like wind, she was right, hehehe. You feel just flutters and bubbles at first. In fact, I think I’d been conscious of the movements a week before I realized it was actually Baby and not the rigatoni I’d had the night before. When you first realize, you wait every waking moment for those bubbles - I’d have thought it would be too weird, like John-Hurt-in-Alien weird. But it becomes as natural as breathing quite quickly. Sometimes, if I’m relaxed and quiet, like at 0509 this morning, I can feel the gentle flickers through the skin of my stomach and if I look closely, I can see dimpling where our child is moving about inside me.
I have no idea why, but the baby seems to move around when I’m in my Volvo. I don’t know whether this is an indication of its distress at my driving! Ha-ha
Hang on, there’s someone at the door… brb.
***
Okay.
That was.. unexpected.
Jack, Sara just came to see me. She evidently got my letter.
I’m a bit in shock at seeing her after such a long time and, well Jack, she was so sweet!
I know you haven’t really spoken of her but I remember every time you have, it was in the most respectful of ways. She deserves it. Actually, sweet is a dumb word to use, she was warm-hearted, understanding and generous.
Basically she thanked me for my letter and gave me a huge bag full of Charlie’s old stuff.
She said that you wouldn’t mind and that you would be glad that it was being used. Did you know she had kept it? There’s loads! Blankets, PJs, onesies. She said that there was no obligation to use it, but I told her that I would be honored to have anything of Charlie’s. She said that she won’t ask for any of it back, so I can pass it on or keep it if I want.
She apologized that almost all of the clothes are really for boys and asked me if I knew the sex of the baby.
I replied that I did :D
She gave me a hug, left me her business card, and asked if I had any family around to help.
Crap. I really, really need to talk to Mark.
Friday July 13th - SGC
Jack,
Very quickly.
I thought hard about Sara’s visit and Mark.
I called him last night, secured five days leave over the weekend, and I’m booked on a flight to San Diego International tonight, right after work.
I’m so nervous. You see, he doesn’t even know about you, let alone a mini-you.
TTYL
Sam
Xxxxx
Saturday July 14th - Carter residence, San Diego
Here.
Nerves wrung out.
Why is it that families can be so DAMN HARD?!
Sunday July 15th - Carter residence, San Diego
Okay Jack, let me explain that last entry.
After a whole lot of guilty soul searching, I resolved to ‘fess up to Mark. Everything. I acknowledge that we haven’t had the closest of relationships, but after all, he’s the only family I’ve got left and he’s had to put up with more than a few MIA notices in the past, both Carter Snr and Jnr.
I call him up, ask if I can stay the weekend and he picks himself up off the floor and says; “Come on down, lil’ sis’.”
He has no idea.
So, I’m booked on the red eye to San Diego. Yeah, I know, not the best idea in my ‘delicate’ state but it was all last minute dot com (actually Southwest Airlines, but you get the idea). I do pretty well on the flight. The attendant looks at me closely and makes sure I have plenty of barf bags. Gee, thanks honey, pass the chicken-on-rye on your way back.
I’ve told Mark *not* to pick me up from the airport. There are two reasons for this. The first one, which I tell him, is that it’s way too early for him to be collecting me; I’ll grab a cab, no sweat. The second is that if you think that I am stalling confronting him with my bump, you’d be right. The fact that it is actually raining in California is a great excuse to wear my Mac. My voluminous Mac. My voluminous Mac that does a great job of hiding excess poundage.
The airport security guard got a bit of a surprise when she patted me down for sure ;D
So I turn up outside his home, complete with baggage of several varieties, both physical and mental, the smallest being my case - I guess all those off-world packs have ensured I travel light whenever I can. He’s seen me from the window and he’s at the door, pulling me out of the soft drizzle that can only be of the Californian kind. He hugs me, and I kinda ensure I’m leaning away.
What was *wrong* with me?!
Why do I not want my own brother to know that I am pregnant? He’s standing right in front of me!
He’s yakkity-yak... the kids are due later - both are at Saturday swim club, he calls for Susan who’s in the kitchen, he asks me if I’ve seen Pete lately, and hey, take my coat off and have a cup of coffee.
I’m seriously chickening out.
I turn my back to him to unbutton my Mac. Damn, my fingers won’t work properly; it must be that non-existent chill in the air. I manage to get my coat on the coat hook peeking out from the hall closet and smooth down my maternity blouse.
Turning around was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do outside of work. Fifth grade dance class was way easier than facing my own brother with the truth.
It didn’t go well.
Mark gasped and fixated upon my stomach. “You’re pregnant!”
“I know,” I replied.
He gestured. “Is that Pete’s?!” He practically shouted. Susan by this time had appeared from the kitchen wiping her hands on a cloth.
I am calm. Not.
“What? No! I haven’t seen Pete for months, since Dad’s funeral.”
Mark has his hands on his hips and bizarrely, I get a vision of dad standing in the kitchen of our old house, fuming over something. “Since you dumped him you mean!”
I don’t know what to say. I suddenly feel extraordinarily protective over our child.
Mark is still gaping and Susan is still hovering. “I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone.”
At least I could tell the truth at this point. “I’m not; it’s complicated.” I begin to finger my coat sleeve hanging in the closet that I haven’t quite moved away from.
A look comes over Mark’s face, something quite alien... a sneer. “Is that some nameless sperm bank’s kid?”
“What?! No! It’s not like that. I mean... the baby’s father is... Jack O’Neill.”
My brother laughs in my face. “Your CO?! You screwed your *boss*? And I thought you were supposed to be so damn smart. You so stupid! You screwed your boss, and what? He knocked you up and the AF dropped you like a stone and where the hell is he?”
I hate him. I hate you. I hate myself.
“Huh? Where is he? DUMPED YOU?”
That was it.
I wrench my coat out of the open closest, grab my case, and was out of the front door before he and his insults could follow me.
It’s now actually raining, I’m blundering out into a San Diego suburb that I don’t know that well, and - yes! - the cab driver that dropped me from the airport is still parked near the sidewalk. I wave frantically and ignore my name being called.
“Sam!”
“SAM!”
“Please! Stop!”
It’s not Mark... it’s Susan. My hand is on the wet cab door handle, I pull it open and the driver is watching us with that amused indifferent look that only cab drivers can employ.
An umbrella appears over my head and a warm hand covers my own wet one that is clutching my case. “Sam, please, it’s my house too, and you are welcome here; Mark can be so tactless sometimes.”
I linger over the flight or fight. “I’m sick of this crap,” I mutter. I want to go home. I want to go to bed. I want to go to sleep and pretend that it is all not happening.
“I know, well, he’s a man, what can you expect? Being an asshole is inbred onto the Y chromosome.”
I still can’t decide.
The cab driver’s gruff tones called through the open window ruin the moment. “Look, lady... *ladies*, as much as this is all very touching, I-“
“Shut the heck up, can’t you see she’s upset and pregnant and everything?!”
Way to go Susan. My head is so heavy; I hang it down and close my eyes.
“Sam, please come in, I’m sorry. I’m an asshole.” Mark’s voice. Contrite. Concerned.
“I told her that already.” Susan. Triumphant. Knowing.
“Sorry,” I mumble to the cab driver, slam the door and turn around. As the cab moves off, a roar of disgust coming from the muffler, Mark takes my case and Susan holds my arm and by the time I get to their porch, I’m sobbing like a crazy woman. They practically pour me onto the sofa where Susan covers me with an afghan and Mark hugs me like he did after Dad died.
It takes me ages to get to the hiccoughing stage.
But then I calmly explain how I’ve got to this point and how determined I am to carry on and be the best mom I can be, hopefully continuing my career as much as practicable (leaving out the part about cosmic wormhole travel).
Mark is full of questions. What is the AF doing regarding S&R? Is the Taliban involved? Al-Qaeda? (He assumes you’re in Afghanistan or Iraq and I am careful to neither confirm nor deny his suspicions - I HATE lying to them, but I know that you know it’s for their own safety). Have I had all my medical checks? Does Pete know?
Damn, I haven’t even given Pete Shanahan a second thought for months.
Fortunately, I am saved by the Junior Carters who burst in full of youth, exuberance, and chlorine. Shannon doesn’t even notice me at first; she gained her one mile distance swim and is high on Life. Susan is thrilled and laughing and then gestures towards me. “Hey! Say hi to Auntie Sam, and some great news; she’s having a baby!”
Bless you, Susan, announce it from the rooftops and it doesn’t seem so... shameful.
Shannon is all over me then, hugging and touching and ‘Can I feel it move?’ and ‘Can I see your tummy?’ Steve is hanging back, a bit embarrassed by his sister’s enthusiasm, perhaps?
“Steve, come and say hi - did you hear what I said? Auntie Sam is having a baby,” Susan is patient and benign. Will I ever be like that?
Steven grunts, nods his head in my direction, and clomps up the stairs.
Susan rolls her eyes and sighs in Mark’s direction. Mark winks back. “He’s talkative today,” he quips. So like Dad. And whether he likes it or not, Steve is the fair spit of him at the same age.
Shannon wants to know everything, so I dig out my ultrasound images and she’s expertly pointing out the spine, the skull, and something that resembles a duck. Susan is smirking; teasing Shannon that she’s far too maternal at 13 and that she’ll be looking up chastity belts on eBay later. Shannon wants to know what a chastity belt is and Mark laughs his ass off at Susan’s red face. Shannon flounces off to take out her braids with one of those looks that says; ‘I know what you meant all along’. I notice her hair is like mine was at the same age. It’s so normal, so family. For a moment, I felt part of a family and I haven’t felt that since I was Shannon’s age. Mark is so incredibly lucky and I don’t think he even realizes.
This morning I went to Mass with everyone and I am relieved to say no thunderbolts tried to shoot me down when I stepped across the threshold. Yeah, you know it’s been a while.
I’ve gotta go now, Mark is taking me to the airport and I need to pack.
Catch you flipside!
Sam
xxxxx