TWENTY-EIGHT
Birthing Plans Brought to you by Netflix
Tessa - 35 Weeks
Text from Bram:Hey Tess, hope you're feeling better. I'm wondering if you could call me back. About the baby's names. There is a bookie online offering ten to one odds that you're going to go with Rosalind if it's a girl. Irene's brother is having a bit of a cash flow issue, and rather than lending him more money I was hoping to be given the inside track on the whole baby name thing. I'm assuming you and Arthur have figured that out already, right?
Text from mum:Tessa, it's your neighbour from across the palace (AKA Mum). The babies are about the size of a Cornish game hen now! Can you imagine? Have you done that pregercise video yet? My cousin Rose’s daughter Candace swears by it and she got her figure back straight away, even after her third baby. Dad and I were thinking of popping by tonight if you’re not doing anything. Call me.
***
IN THE INTEREST OFventing, which is totally healthy unless it becomes a regular pastime—wait,isthis my regular pastime? Hmm, I might have to start tracking the amount of time I spend venting to see if it’s abnormally high. But not today. I’m too angry to track things today. Today, I’m honestly ready to blow, so I’m just going to go with it for a few minutes, then let it go. I promise. Well, I hope, anyway...
I have hit a wall as far as pregnancy goes.
I’m done.
Totally and utterly done.
These babies are taking up so much room, I couldn’t take a full breath even if I did want to meditate (which I don’t because there is literally no possible way I’ll reach a Zen state with how horridly uncomfortable I am every second of the day and night). And I should be celebrating; after all, I’ve managed to slay the Brooke dragon (using compassion no less), I’ve won over most of the public, Dylan has moved on, and I’ve started a new movement of helping women believe they’re good enough as they are. Honestly, what more could I want?
And yet, I’m just an angry, angry bird now, watching the seconds tick by on the clock while I still don’t go into labour. At least if I could sleep the hours away, that would make the time go by quicker. Only, I can’t get a decent sleep because I have to get up and pee every couple of hours on account of the fact that the space allotted for my bladder right now is equivalent to the size of a grain of rice.
Arthur and I are currently in the back of the limo on the way to Dr. Dropp's office. Arthur, who has been forced to bring a stack of paperwork with him, is busy working away while I sit and stew. Right now, I couldn’t find a Zen state if it was on a map and I had GPS. I’m a miserable, snappy beast. I find myself very short with everyone around me, then right after, I feel so guilty I get very teary and feel just awful about how bitchy I just was...right up to the exact moment someone pisses me off again. Then Rage-Filled Princess Tessa makes another appearance.
I stare out the window at all the Christmas decorations going up around the city, trying to think of something nice to say. I suppose I’m glad to be in the cool air-conditioned backseat of the limo, but I also feel sort of guilty because it’s the first week of December and Arthur keeps blowing on his hands while he works. When I ask if he wants it adjusted, he says he wouldn’t dream of it and that he’s fine, but I have a feeling that is a lie. A smart one.
The truth is, deep down I’m both terrified and filled with regret. I keep asking myself how the frick I’m going to look after two babies and continue my royal duties without the help of a nanny. And I’m coming up totally blank. My only hope is my parents’ house takes a few more years to be built so the babies will be in nursery school by the time I’m left to handle things on my own. But that’s not going to happen, and I know it. The contractor told them they should be in there by January 1st. I haven’t told Arthur I secretly want them to stay, and I won’t. Not after spending the past several months complaining about them and telling him how badly I wish they’d leave.
Why did I have to open my big mouth about the nannies?Why, Tessa, why?
I can’t go back on it now. Not if I ever want to be able to face the public, or my brothers again for that matter. Hmm...that suddenly doesn’t sound so bad.
But before I can get to failing at being a mum, I’m going to have to go through the whole birth thing, and the thought of that is unimaginably scary. Ever since I watched Brooke’s not-so-smooth labour on the telly the other night, I’ve been freaked the feck out. Seeing the pain she was in, even though she’d done everything right, scared the bejeezus out of me. I mean, she prepped her cervix (whatever the hell that means), meditated, ate an incredibly strict diet, and kept up with her intense yoga practice, while I’ve pretty much just sat around eating and trying not to think about the delivery part of motherhood. Ifshewasn’t ready,I’mtotally screwed.
The worst part is, I’m supposed to be Graceful In-Labour Princess Tessa, only giving dainty little puffs of air during contractions, followed by serene smiles and polite requests for ice chips. If I’m anything short of that, the hospital staff will spend the rest of their lives telling everyone they meet how I swore like a sailor and screamed at Arthur when I was in labour. This is one of those moments in life when I wish no one knew who I was. I miss the freedom of anonymity.
I do have one last hope I’m clinging to, however. It’s a long shot, but if it works, I swear I’ll go back to being Happy, Calm Princess Tessa for the duration of this pregnancy.
When we arrive at Dr. Dropp's office, we’re told that there will be about a forty-five-minute wait. Slutty nurse offers Arthur refreshments, completely forgetting about me. Not in the mood to be ignored or overlooked, I clear my throat to draw her attention.
"I would kill for a glass of water right now."
I'm pretty sure the look on my face is showing her there are other things I would kill for as well because she shrinks back from my husband and gives me a little nod.
"One water coming right up."
One of my fellow pregos smiles up at me from behind her magazine. "I can't believe you're here. Are you a patient of Dr. Dropp's as well?"
Oh, a real Sherlock Holmes, if ever there was one. "Yes." I nod. "She’s delivered all of my family's babies since my mother and father started having children."
"She's wonderful, isn't she?"
I nod and smile.
Another woman looks up from her iPad and says, "So, is this your first baby?" She directs the question to the pleasant woman across from me.
The unsuspecting woman nods enthusiastically.
