Right on cue, I feel a pang and I bolt upright, sending a glob of ultrasound gel flying. The twins have been staging an MMA fight in my uterus for weeks now. I’m just the unwilling arena.
“Soon, Maman,” the tech tells me with a broad, toothy grin. “Are you ready?”
I laugh politely and tell her the same thing I tell everyone who asks: “Not even close.”
The woman grins, then leaves to fetch the doctor. I hear a knock on the door a second later, and when I look up, I see Jasmine slipping into the exam room.
“Sorry,” she says. “Lesson ran late. Isabelle is getting better, though.”
“Well, she can’t get much worse.”
“No offense to her wildly talented instructor, of course,” I hurry to say. When Jasmine continues to pout, I add, “… who is also wise, beautiful, and has an ass you could bounc
