The packages were arriving now with a regularity that at first annoyed Sara, but now were . . . fun. Sort of, she admitted only to herself. The first few were books; copies of the latest information on maternity with little Post-it notes on them in beautiful handwriting: Sara dear—this book was recommended by the American Pediatric Institute. I hope it will be helpful! O. and another on vegetarian nutrition during pregnancy with the Post-it: Just a few more recipes to consider for the next few months! O.

After that came the maternity tops. And gift cards. And baskets of fruit.

It was sweet, really, and Sara DID appreciate the gifts, but the help was hard for her to deal with. She mentioned it to Doctor Miller, who smiled and nodded sagely.

“Yes, it’s tough. A pregnancy is very much a broad-spectrum event, Sara—you might think it’s just a matter of you and your husband, but that’s just not the case. Your parents, his parents, your siblings, your friends, your co-workers and even your neighbors are all a part of the circle. They all love you and want to support you, but you’re going to get a lot of advice.”

“Yeah,” Sara agreed thoughtfully. “The hard part is figuring out what’s helpful and what’s not. I’ve read up on things—“

Doctor Miller arched an eyebrow at her, and Sara’s grin widened. “Okay, I’ve, um, done a lot of reading up on things—“

“I suspect you could do a dissertation on a few of them,” Doctor Miller interjected. “Judging by that book bag you haul in here regularly.”

"Hey, I like to read,” Sara protested, “But my point is, how do I know what advice to take and what to leave? Most of the women I talk to have done this; they’ve already been mothers, so they’re, you know—already in the club that I’m just getting to.”

This was delivered in a light, but frustrated tone; Doctor Miller sighed and patted Sara’s shoulder. “For the record, there is no easy answer to that, hon. All I can suggest is that you keep everything filtered through your common sense, and when you have a doubt, talk it over with someone you trust. Take everything with a grain of salt, even medical research, and in the end, make your own choice. It’s what every mother does in the long run.”

Sara worked her jaw back and forth for a moment, scowling. “So you're saying that in the end, it’s all up to me anyway?”

Doctor Miller looked over the top of her glasses, “You and your husband. Is he going to make it today? I was pretty sure he’d want to be here for this.”

“He’ll be here. He said he had an errand to run,” Sara replied, shifting a little and feeling the pressure of three bottles of water
now.

Doctor Miller leaned over and hit the ‘com button. “Raye, is Mr. Grissom out there?”

“He just came in,” came the husky reply. “Should I send him on back?”

“Yep. Thank you, Raye—“ Doctor Miller murmured. Within a few moments there was a knock at the door; Grissom came in, looking slightly flushed.

“You okay?” Sara asked softly when he came over to kiss her. Grissom smiled reassuringly, and nodded.

“Okay, now that we’re all here,” Doctor Miller dimpled, “Let’s check out the baby.”

She made Sara stretch out, and pull up her shirt, then carefully squirted a blob of warm gel on her lower stomach. Sara looked down at the mess with distaste, but Doctor Miller’s attention was on the sonogram monitor, a black-screen with fuzzy grey flecks on it. She glanced briefly at the two of them.

“The gel makes it easier to move the wand around and get the best image. I know it’s not pleasant Sara, but at least it’s warm, and I’ll give you some towels and wipes to help clean up afterwards. Mr. Grissom, would you please get the lights?”

He stepped over and flicked the switch off, moving back to Sara’s side in the dimness, taking her hand in his. Doctor Miller flounced down on a rolling stool and scooted over to Sara, lightly rubbing the wand through the gel and smearing it around a bit.

Sara squeezed Grissom’s hand surprisingly hard, and he looked down at her, alarmed. She gritted her teeth a little. “Not fun.”

“It’s all right—“ Doctor Miller interjected. “She’s got a full bladder and I’m pressing on it. I’m sorry, but it’s necessary to get the best look at your little one in there. Just hang on.”

All three of them looked at the screen expectantly, and after a few more passes of the wand, an image began to appear on the screen. Doctor Miller murmured softly identifying the blurry images for them. “All right, you can see this is the bottom of your pelvis, Sara, and part of the uterine wall, and if we shift a liiiiiiittle here . . . ah, there we are . . . hel-lo, baby.”

The shape was blobby and small, more like a slightly flattened newt, Sara thought later, but for that first single moment she was transfixed by the soft little rounded shape on the screen. Doctor Miller reached out a finger, tracing the outline. “There’s the sweet little head, of course—and here you can see a shoulder and part of the right arm . . . “

Grissom’s grip tightened around Sara’s fingers and she wanted to look up at him, but couldn’t—the sight on the screen had her complete attention. The grey fuzz of the image, details becoming clearer as she recognized them; an elbow, a nose in profile—

She felt herself ridiculously close to tears, the growing sting of them threatening to obscure her vision. Impatiently Sara wiped her eyes with her free hand, bladder pain forgotten as she stared on.

Doctor Miller hummed a little, rolling the wand again. “I think this one’s going to have your long legs, Sara . . .”

“Wonderful,” came Grissom’s hoarse whisper. Sara took a second to glance up at him, and his awe-struck profile flooded her heart with so much emotion that she knew she was squeezing his hand much too hard but she couldn’t stop because this was a moment that changed reality.

Right here.

Doctor Miller chuckled as the image suddenly shifted. “Oh my, someone’s a little shy today—will you look at that. Mooning us!”

“That must be from your side of the family,” Sara whispered to Grissom. He didn’t seem to hear her, still enthralled with the image on the screen, but a second later he whispered back.

“I doubt it. With Grissoms and Sullivans, if we don’t like you, we’re upfront about it. No, mooning looks like a Sidle predilection to me.”

“I have never mooned—“ Sara paused for a moment trying to regain her dignity, and changed tactics. “--Well, not in a really long time.”

“That’s what everyone says,” Doctor Miller murmured soothingly.

After a stop for Sara to use the bathroom—a process that took a while but resulted in a much happier woman—they headed home. Dante was delighted to see them; Figaro demanded petting and food, as usual. Grissom took care of the beasts, and carefully put the little black and grey images of the sonogram on the refrigerator, pinning them there with magnets. He studied them tenderly a moment longer, then headed into the bedroom.

Sara was under the covers, just about ready to drift off; Grissom undressed and slipped in beside her, rolling to his side and resting a hand on her belly. She gave a contented sigh and snuggled against him, neither of them having to say a word.

Eventually though, Grissom spoke, softly, whispering into her hair. “Every time I think I’ve reached some sort of understanding about this process, I’m struck by some new and concrete aspect of it, Acushla. Seeing the baby today—not a fetus, not some hypothetical presence in your belly, but a well-formed, living being has me utterly . . . humbled. The Sprog has gone from a single one word concept to a three dimensional person now, with high definition.”

“Mmmmm hmmmm,” Sara agreed sleepily.

“And it’s overwhelming. In the best of ways—“ Grissom hastened to add, “A small miracle in itself. But seeing the Sprog brought home the fact that I have no idea what to do, Sara. The books, the advice—I’m trying to do my best to prepare, but it’s like reading about baseball without ever having played. Sure I can learn all the regulations and statistics, but is that going to help when I’m out there in the field for the first time? Is it going to help me field that pop fly or stop a runner on second?”

Sara’s hand patted his gently, and Grissom continued, his whisper slow and soft. “Before Wyatt, I had never changed a diaper in my life. Ever,” he shamefully confessed to her. “Nor had I fed an infant, or dressed one. I was a complete rookie in the baby leagues, lower than a bat boy.”

“Bat boy?”

“I wasn’t even a peanut vendor,” Grissom continued his metaphor softly. “Babies happened to other people, and while I understood the process, I just never thought it would be something that happened to me. Now that I have seen the Sprog, the only thing I’m more certain of is that I’m unprepared. I’m in the outfield with the full sun in my eyes. I’m up to bat with a pencil. I’m running the bases with no sense of direction.”

“Shhhhhh---“ Sara told him in her drowsiest murmur. “I’ll talk you in from third, slugger.“

Grissom drew in a breath and managed a soft laugh at his own expense, pulling Sara a little closer. “Thanks, coach.”

“You can’t come in here,” Hodges snipped. “Chemicals.”

Sara blinked. “Excuse me? For your information, there are chemicals everywhere.”

“Yes, but I’m not about to be the cause of any birth defects or deformities, all right? I have quite enough to contend with without the added problems of personal lawsuits,” the tech told her, his eyes dropping to her midriff. Sara pursed her lips, trying not to scowl or laugh; Hodges was actually right, but his attitude was as annoying as ever.

“Well unless you’re going to strap me to a chair and force-feed me thalidomide or mercury, I think you’re off the hook,” she murmured tartly. “I just need the findings on the Pinski case.”

“Go wait in the break room; I’ll bring them to you,” Hodges ordered. Sara blinked at him, spun on her heel and left, feeling a bit more irritated now. It was one thing to take the mollycoddling of Grissom, but quite another to have someone like Hodges bossing her around. She dropped herself into a chair, trying not to fume, and when he finally came in a few minutes later, it still took some effort to be civil.

Not that he noticed. Hodges stood off from her as if her pregnancy might be catching and casually remarked, “So are you going with a theme for the nursery? Something in bugs I would guess.”

“A theme?” Sara echoed, looking up from the breakdown of components in the crime scene pudding. Hodges nodded sagely.

“Oh yes, it’s de rigueur you know—teddy bears or bunnies or Noah’s Ark. My cousin had her nursery done in frogs, but then again, she was always a little, you know . . . “ he gave a little eye roll. Sara looked up at him.

“You’re serious.”

“She used to collect the most kitchy Kermit memorabilia—“

“No, I mean about a theme,” Sara sighed. “Can’t it all just be, um, generic baby stuff?”

“Sara, Sara, Sara—“ Hodges sighed dramatically, “No.”

“So—we need a theme,” she persisted, working on a straight face.

“You bet. And the sooner the better.” His pager went off, and Hodges left, leaving Sara to study the contents of the report without really seeing it. On impulse, she picked up her cell phone and hit speed dial.

“Hey. I’m fine, but according to an unnamed source, we need a theme.”

“Babies ‘R Us is grammatically incorrect,” came the predictable grumble.

Sara linked her arm with Grissom’s and squeezed. “It is. Deal with it, and let’s go look around, okay?.”

They stepped into the brightly lit store and stood blinking at the extravaganza of pastel-colored supplies filling the shelves of numerous aisles. Soft lullabies drifted from the speakers, and for a moment Grissom blinked uncertainly at the plethora of plush pinkness.

“It’s . . . “ he began.

Sara sighed, “ . . . overwhelming. Ye-ah. Let’s just browse a little.”

They wandered down the nearest aisle together. After a few steps, Grissom caught sight of the Diaper Genie, and eyed it with fascination, his gaze bright. “You know, this would make a terrific way of storing collected evidence on a room-by-room basis.”

Sara looked at it, and then at him, her dimples deepening. He blinked back at her. “What?”

“Only you would think of that.”

“Well it’s logical,” Grissom pointed out. “All of the evidence contained separately, but in a chain, like a sausage.”

Sara stared at him a moment longer. “I love you,” she told him and turned away, shaking her head.

They kept wandering, working along the store in tandem, noting the changing tables and cribs; the car seats and high chairs; the hundreds of toys, gadgets and goods seemingly necessary for a comfortable maternity. Sara sighed, shifting her purse on her shoulder. “Okay, I’m starting to get hungry, and I haven’t seen anything that appeals to me. What about you?”

“Sara, I’m open for whatever you want.”

“Grissom, don’t cop out on me here—we’re BOTH going to have to look at this stuff every time we go into the Sprog’s room, so I don’t want something that makes either of us regret buying it,” She pointed out patiently.

Grissom nodded, and suddenly caught sight of something that drew him forward. Curious, Sara followed him until she saw what he was looking at, and for a moment, she stood next to him and took it in.

They glanced at each other and nodded, satisfied.

“Not bugs?”

“Nope,” Sara laughed into the phone. She was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, eating canned peaches and green beans in barbeque sauce, looking over a chapter in the latest cookbook. In her ear, her mother sighed.

“Ah well, I suppose moon and stars is an appropriate theme for parents who work the night shift,” Avra sighed. “And it’s gender neutral. You’re sure you don’t want to know if you’re having a boy or girl?”

“Nope,” Sara replied again. “We’re willing to be surprised.”

“Very well,” Avra murmured, “I won’t tell you then, but I know exactly which yarn to pick up for the baby’s blanket.”

“Mommmm . . . “ Sara warned, but she was smiling as she said it. “It’s going to be difficult enough to consider names.”

“To be sure, my girlchild. Has Gil gone through his panic attack yet?”

“Yeah, I got the full baseball analogy last week,” Sara admitted through a mouthful of PeBeBarb. “Did Dad have that?”

“With both you and Tom, yep. Next comes the ‘Loss of my personal freedom’ phase. If you see him looking mopey, tell him to take off all his clothes and walk around the house. It does wonders for a father to be.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Sara, I’m your mother; trust me on this.”

After hanging up, Sara rose and stretched, patting her stomach as she did so. There was definitely a growing roundness there now; enough to make zipping up certain slacks difficult these days. Sara carried her empty dish into the kitchen and found Grissom leaning on the kitchen sink, looking out the window into the back yard, his expression slightly pensive.

“Hey.” She murmured to him. Grissom turned his head to give her a brief smile, then looked back to the yard. Sara set her bowl down, and came up behind him, pressing against his back.

“Just thinking about where to put the swing,” Grissom murmured. “Someplace with shade, but not so close to the bricks that it would hit. Something more to have to mow around.”

“Grissom?”

“Yes?”

“Take off all your clothes.”