SIX
Fetuses with Low More Compasses
Tessa - 7 Weeks 5 Days
Have you ever noticedthat when you’re in the market for something—say, a new Coach bag—you start to see them everywhere? It suddenly seems like every woman out there has one? That’s exactly what it’s like being pregnant—only I suppose I’m not exactly ‘in the market’ for pregnant women, but I am one, so I’m obsessively checking out baby bumps everywhere I go (which isn’t many places lately, to be honest; it’s more like ‘what I see on the telly’).
But even in the real world, it seems like everyone I know is pregnant, from Awful Brooke to Kate the Perfect across the pond. Well...I suppose that’s really only two women, isn’t it?
Oh, I just realized how bitter I sound. I really wish I were handling this like Grace Kelly would have done, but the truth is, I’m a wreck, and not just the nausea and raging hormones – which are bad, by the way. I’m like that the guy in that Katy Perry song who’s completely fickle and she should just kick to the curb. No, not that hilarious Russell Brand...who also turned out to be fickle, now that I think about it. But I mean the fictitious one who’s always either hot or cold. I wonder if she already knew Russell when she wrote that song? Hmm. I should Google that.
But not now. I don’t have time at the moment because I’m supposed to be on my way to the small boardroom for my Monday ‘Spin Session’ with Dylan (or ‘spin sesh’, as she calls it. Insert eye rolling here). I suppose I should be grateful it doesn't mean a ninety-minute spin class, although by the end of it I'm typically as worn out and dejected as I would be were I trying to keep up with her on a stationary bike. But to be fair, I’m not downing enough caffeine and sugar to kill a race horse, and I also am feeling rather under the weather these days.
Anyway, today I’m going to put a stop to Dylan and my Monday Spin Sessions. Arthur and I had a talk about it last night, and I decided I’ve had enough of all of this. With my pregnancy and how much busier my life is about to become, I need to find places to cut my scheduled activities. Might as well start with things I hate.
I realized sometime around my wedding that I wasn’t going to try to be someone I’m not anymore. Instead, I try to present myself as Tessa (only with a much better wardrobe) and hope eventually I’ll win over the public. If there’s anything I learned in the past two years, it’s that trying to be someone I’m not ends in disaster.
So, I’ll go to today’s ‘spin sesh’, listen politely, say ‘no, thank you’ to every ridiculous suggestion she has this week, then tell her I need to ‘phase out the spin sessions’ before the baby arrives because I won’t be able to fit her in anymore. She won’t like it, but that’s not my problem.
I arrive in the boardroom in time to see Dylan drain the last drops of a can of Insta-Energy into her mouth and toss it into the bin behind her with the skill of a female Lebron James. She looks up, and when she sees me, her mouth spreads into a wide grin, her eyes crazed with caffeine and God-knows-what. She then zips around the table at lightning speed, slapping packets in front of each of the people at the table.
"Happy Monday," she sings as she rounds the table and pulls out a package of whiteboard markers from her suit jacket pocket. "We’ve got a lot to go over today and some epic decisions to make. If we play our cards right, this will be the moment that turns this ship around. I don't think I need to tell you all what's at stake here. Every decision the princess makes will be scrutinized—bottle vs. breast, drug-free vs. epidural, midwife vs. hospital...everythingis going to be weighed and judged by both the media and the public.”
I purse my lips together for a second while my heart feels like it's dropped down somewhere around my knees. She's not wrong, which absolutely sucks cold teenie-weenies.
"Brilliant. It’s important to know what’s at stake. I suppose...”
Dylan tilts her head. "Itisimportant, Princess. Vital, in fact. This is all one big experiment—a super fun, lifelong experiment."
"You should trybeingthe experiment. It's not quite so fun."
“Oh! Don’t say that, Princess Tessa. Be excited! You can only go up from here.”
“Strictly speaking, that’s not true, Dylan,” a bearded young man who has hipster written all over him says. “She could easily go down, say, if she developed a crack addiction or committed double homicide.”
“Well, then it’s up from here, then,” I say with a small laugh. “No plans of doing crack or killing anyone in the near future.” Except maybe Dylan and Beardy.
Sitting down, Dylan cracks open another Insta-Energy. “Perrrrffffect.Love it, Princess. That’s a can-do attitude. Now, we should do a quick Vomitgate recap so we can prevent further instances. My survey results indicate the negative association with Princess Tessa and Vomitgate has already died down by 32%, which is terrific news. I’ve prepared word clouds based on comments made on the various royal watcher websites from the night after Vomitgate and this morning. You can see on page 2 here how the words such as ‘alcoholic’, ‘addict’, ‘drug problem’, ‘druggie’, ‘wino’, and ‘embarrassment’ have shrunk over the course of the week so that in this morning’s cloud, the font size is approximately one-third of what they were before."
As I stare at the humiliating cloud of words depicting the public's perception of me, a wave of nausea hits, giving me another reason to go crawl back into bed, pull the covers over my head, and sleep until next year.
“I can see by the look on your face that you're upset." Dylan says, nodding vigorously while she stands and positions herself in front of the whiteboard. “But here's the exciting part, this baby isexactlythe thing you need to improve your image. The anticipation and celebration surrounding a royal baby is only bested by a royal wedding. So, once we get the news out about your little bundle of joy, we can expect a huge upswing in your numbers and a replacement of at least half, if not two-thirds, of these negative keywords. We are going use this baby to getyouon top for once."
"I’m not sure I’m comfortable with the idea of using my baby to promote and improve my image."
"Honestly, who's to say who's using who?" Dylan asks, shrugging her shoulders.
“You did. Just now." I lean my elbow on the table, then rest my chin on my hand. "You literally just said that we were going to use this baby to get me to the top."
"But is that really so bad? I mean honestly, the baby is using you right back."
Dylan spins and writes ‘Baby Equals PR Salvation’ on the board. Turning to us, she says, "It really is a two-way street, wouldn’t you say? I mean, your baby is currently sucking all the calcium from your bones and the iron from your blood, and I can guarantee you, he or she isn’t experiencing a moral dilemma on the matter. Besides, any gains you make will benefit the baby doubly. On page seven, you’ll see a graph to prove my point.
“We’ve compared five royal moms across Europe, and we can see that their own popularity is exactly correlated with that of their children. The top line is the Duchess of Cambridge in pink. You can see the public has very strongly held positive feelings about the intellect, potential, and likability of all of their children, including the one that hasn't been born yet. Whereas Princess Clarinda's children, who are honour students and show extreme athletic ability, fare much lower in the same categories, even though they’ve proven themselves to have loads of potential. But because people generally don’t like Princess Clarinda, the kids are thought to be rather dull, unattractive loafers.
“I’ve used this information, coupled with your typical results in my Google analytics and have determined the projections for your baby. If you look at the brown line there at the bottom of the chart, you can see what you—and therefore your baby—are up against. So, I hope this convinces you that trying to get the most mileage out of this pregnancy will be in both your best interests."
I stare at the graph that represents the lack of potential my unborn child has, feeling suddenly numb and cold. In an instant, all my previous notions of telling Dylan to feck off have disappeared.
