Tessa: Did you?
Arthur: Yes, but he didn’t have to tell on me. I didn’t mean to hit him that hard and I ended up having to scrub the gym floor after school every day for a week.
Tessa: So, no Alexander, even though it’s a perfectly good name.
Arthur: Exactly. One minute. Oliver?
Tessa: The Simpsons ruined it for me - Oliver Clothes Off.
Arthur: This is trickier than I thought it would be.
Tessa: We’ve literally only been at it for six minutes and we already have one contender.
Arthur: What?
Tessa: James, remember?
Arthur: Oh right. But if I already forgot, maybe it’s not such a memorable name.
Tessa: So you want memorable, like say, Moon Unit or Pilot Inspecktor?
Arthur: Now you’re talking. Let’s go with something so awful it shocks the world. Gotta run. Love you!
***
I'M LYING ON THE EXAMtable in Dr. Dropp's office. I've left my black wool socks on, not because I want them there, but because the struggle to get them off and back on again is somewhat humiliating even when I'm alone. Xavier, who’s come across some information about women having trouble with this at this stage of pregnancy, offers to do the job for me most days, but I decline, saying it's good for me to put on my own socks to stay limber. The truth is, I have no idea what's going on in my toe region, so there's no way I'm allowing my bodyguard down there. I can't be sure, but I took a photo of my feet with my mobile phone yesterday, and when I zoomed in, I'm almost positive there are some hairs sprouting on the tops of my toes, which means I really am going full Frodo.
I’m rather stressed at the moment, actually, and I’m not sure if it’s just hormones or the fact that I barely see my husband or that I’m terrified of being a mum, but whatever it is that’s bothering me, I’m a mess. Dr. Dropp walks in and goes straight to washing her hands while I mentally prepare myself for another humiliating update on my weight and measurements.
"I saw your interview the other day."
"Oh, that. I was hoping you were one of the very few people who hadn’t witnessed that delightful moment in my life."
Walking over to me, she rubs her hands together for a moment to warm them up, then presses them to my belly, starting her exam. "It got me thinking about how difficult having a pregnancy under a microscope must be. It's hard enough for most women going through all of these changes—especially the first time around—but in your case, I can't even imagine the pressure."
Tears prick my eyes, and I nod. Before I know it, I'm spilling everything to my doctor, telling her about the lobby groups vying for my endorsement, Veronica’s long legs, Brooke’s perfect pregnancy nonsense, about being the Cowntess of Camembert, and turning into a Hobbit. I talk and talk and even cry a little as I ramble on about my fear of beautiful, young nannies, and my husband's busy schedule, the nursery that isn't finished, and my fear of screwing up so badly that my children end up the first royal children to have to be apprehended by Child Protection Services. I end my monologue with the fact that no matter what I do, I'm pretty sure I'll never be a beloved member of the royal family, at least not as far as the upper-crust is concerned.
Dr. Dropp nods sympathetically, then says, "I think you're right there.”
Crap. That’s not what I wanted to hear.
“There really isn’t much a person can do to change how others see you, not if they’ve made up their minds already,” she says. “In the end, I think it may be best to put your focus into being a good person, being a good mum—not a perfect one, mind you, that doesn't exist—but agood enoughmum. The more you focus on helping others, the less any of this will matter to you, which in the end I think is all you can hope for, isn't it?"
I wipe the tears from my cheeks, nodding quickly in agreement. This is like one of those Oprah Ah-hah! moments. “I suppose so. It's pretty much the only thing I haven't tried to impress people. I should've taken your advice about the eating, though. Maybe become a spokesperson for the Avonian Healthy Pregnancy Foundation instead of going theoppositeway with things."
Dr. Dropp wrinkles her nose up in disgust. "God, no. Join that ridiculous group of mummy bullies who thrive on making others feel inadequate?"
I laugh, feeling a little bit shocked at her opinion on the matter.
“I only mention your weight so you would have all the facts. I'm not worried about your weight gain, and no one else should be either. To be honest, in the past forty years I think women have gone the wrong direction when it comes to pregnancy—and parenting, for that matter. Everybody's operating in such a high state of anxiety, terrified that everything they do will mess up the future generation forever. If you ask me—and I know you didn't—I'd say the one thing that's going to mess up today’s children is all this needless worrying."
"Oh God. I've never thought of that. Now I need to worry about worrying," I say with a little grin.
Dr. Dropp laughs and pats me on the arm. “I think that's the key right there. If you can keep your sense of humour about all of this, you and Arthur and your babies are going to do just fine."
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