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The image is hilarious, but I’m sure the reality was less than ideal. And totally something that would happen to me. “What did you do?”
“Stood there and cried until my husband came downstairs to see what was taking me so long with the bottle,” she says on a laugh.
I knew it. I’m not alone. Crying is totally normal.
I laugh with her, even though I feel a twinge of sadness. There’s still a little disappointment that I won’t have a partner to share experiences with. But I imagine that Pippa finding me crying in the kitchen in the middle of the night would be just as funny. She’d laugh her ass off, especially if I was standing in a puddle. If the tables were turned, honestly, I’d do the same. That’s how you cheer up a friend.
“Also, not to spoil the mood, but Casey at the front desk wanted me to ask you to stop by after your appointment. Something about needing your updated insurance card. She tried to call, but she got a message that your phone was disconnected.”
Well, that takes away my high spirits. I try not to appear panicked as I pull my dress down to cover my stomach. “Oh, sure thing. Sorry about that. I meant to talk to her last week but stupid pregnancy brain.”
Daisy smiles and gets to her feet. “Been there. No need to explain. I once had a patient who basically forgot whole words during her entire pregnancy. It made conversations incredibly one-sided.” She helps me off the examination table. “All right then. I will see you next week. Now, I really do want you to stay off your feet as much as possible. I know you can’t with work, which you should be easing up on now, considering how close you’re getting to delivery, but rest is important. You said you were spotting the other day, which is normal, but we don’t want to take any chances.”
I nod my understanding, even though I’ve got no intention of listening to her. The fact of the matter is, the more I throw into savings, the longer I can take on maternity leave and not have to worry about money. I already have a good amount stocked away and have done everything I could over the past few months to cut out extra expenses.
I’ve even given up my phone for a short time, at least until all my medical bills are paid off. If work needs me, they email, or Marlene texts Pippa. Every penny I can save, I do.
Dr. Daisy and I say our goodbyes, and I stop by the front desk to give them my new insurance card and email, since they can’t call anymore. It’s chilly outside, and yet, I don’t bother zipping up my coat. The weather is wonderful, and I enjoy the walk to the subway station, taking in the fresh air. Well, as fresh as the air in New York can be.
One great thing I learned about riding the subway while pregnant is that most people get out of my way, and someone almost always offers a seat. Just like today. The moment I waddle my way through the doors, a middle-aged man gets up and offers me his seat. I take it graciously, plopping down just as the train starts to move.
As I ride the subway home, my thoughts drift to him.
I’ve thought about Dillan a few times over the last couple of months, but most of my focus has been baby related. Of course, it’s hard not to think of one without the other, considering I wouldn’t be pregnant if we hadn’t slept together. Part of me wonders if I should have tried harder to get in contact with him, but considering his thoughts on the whole kid thing, I ultimately decided my decision was best.
Besides, what would he do if he found out? I’m sure he would offer to pay in some way, and I don’t want or need his charity. The idea of reconnecting with him again only because of the baby doesn’t sit well with me—even if I did find a way to contact him. I’m a hopeless romantic at heart, and if Dillan and I were going to be together, I’d want it to be because he cared for me. Not out of obligation or guilt.
In the end, if he’d really wanted to get together, he wouldn’t have run out of the club after he recognized me. He wouldn’t have left a wrong number, and when he saw me again, he wouldn’t have been outta there like the damn devil was on his heels.
Oh, well.
With the little family I’ve already carved out, I’m perfectly capable of handling everything myself. Pippa, or “Auntie Pipi” as she has dubbed herself, has been at my side just as she always is, including helping me organize my room so the baby and I will have everything we need. I love her dearly. She has always been way more organized than I am, and I never fully appreciated it until I had to find a way to fit baby stuff in one small New York City apartment.
Mrs. Loughty has been bringing me food nonstop. She shoves healthy meals in front of me every chance she can. Honestly, I haven’t eaten so well in years. As my due date approaches, she’s started to prepare meals that Pippa and I can freeze because, and I quote, “The last thing you want to worry about when nursing and changing nappies is what to eat for dinner.” She has a heart of gold. My dear Mrs. Loughty. Now that enough time has gone by, I think it’s hilarious that she tried to set me up with Herbert. That’s another plus side to the pregnancy. She’s definitely not insisting on trying to set me up again.
All things considered, I’m as prepared as I’m ever going to be. I’ve got the supplies, read the baby books, and I’ve got the support. Mrs. Loughty has even taught me to knit, which is just as calming as sewing but requires less concentration.
As much as I want to work, I’ve been given the day off by Marlene. She tried to make me stay home the rest of the week, but I refused. There’s no way I’m going to miss out on two days of pay. Not when my due date is looming closer.
When I make it back to my apartment, a note from Pippa sits on the counter, next to a Tupperware dish of Mrs. Loughty’s broccoli and cheese casserole I’ve been craving constantly.
The only thing the note says is:
Eat this and then take a NAP.
After savoring the casserole and indulging in the chocolate chip cookies I baked yesterday for all of us following my cleaning spree, I crawl into bed, full and satisfied. Even though it’s winter, I find myself boiling hot all the time and shed my clothes before bundling myself up in my comforter. It takes me a long time to get comfortable, but eventually, I wrap myself around my body pillow and relax.
The muscles in my legs seem to breathe with relief as I give them time to rest. I can’t remember a time where I was so unfamiliar with my body. Being a dancer, I’ve always known how my body worked and reacted to everything. Pregnancy is a whole different ballgame. While I’m still in shape, I just can’t move the way I did before. Not with over thirty pounds of extra weight on my middle. It has been so long since I’ve seen my feet, but I know they are swollen, given I can barely fit into any of my shoes anymore.
The baby seems to always know when I’m ready to sleep because he becomes super active. At least, I think it’s a “he.” Early on, I decided I didn’t want to know the sex of the baby. There are so few surprises in life; I want to hold onto this one. I’ve made sure to buy enough neutral baby clothing. It hasn’t stopped me from thinking about whether I would have a boy or girl. For some reason, I settled on “boy” with no justification other than it feels right. I was able to pick out a boy’s name without issue, while girl names elude me.
“Ease up, kid,” I tell my stomach, giving it a soft pat. “Your mom is tired and needs a nap.”
Grabbing my phone (although I can’t make or receive calls, I can still play music), I put on a playlist of soothing classical music I compiled and press the speaker to my stomach. Instantly, the baby settles, and it makes me smile. The idea that music calms us both only strengthens the connection between us. I hope that’ll work once he’s born.
I drift off to sleep after a short time.
When I wake up, at least three hours have passed, and I desperately need to use the bathroom. I pull on a robe and shuffle out of the bedroom, greeted by bright lights and Pippa sitting on the couch.
