My name sits across the top of the website in big, clean lettering, with photos Leigh pulled from my social media already arranged across the page. Workout videos, training testimonials, and before-and-after client photos. It actually looks… professional.
“Holy crap. You built this already?”
“Of course I did. You’re a great trainer. People love you. Now we just make it official.”
“I already train people,” I point out.
“In person. Which limits you to one city. The internet exists, Sage.”
I shift in my chair, already sensing where this is going.
“And before you start panicking,” she adds, holding up a hand, “hear me out. Your timing might actually be perfect.”
“My timing?” I repeat. “How could the timing be perfect? Being pregnant as a trainer is not a selling point.”
Leigh nods enthusiastically. “Actually, it’s exactly that.”
“You cannot possibly be suggesting what I think you’re suggesting.”
She grins. “Pregnancy fitness content. Sage, do you know how many pregnant women want to stay active but don’t know how?”
Leigh says the word “pregnancy” like it’s a marketing strategy instead of a medical condition currently hijacking my entire body.
I stare at her across the kitchen table and try very hard not to look horrified. “You want me to turn my accidental pregnancy into a brand?”
Leigh leans back in her chair like she’s just pitched the most obvious idea in the world. “I want you to turn your expertise into something people can actually access. The pregnancy part just makes you relatable and gives you a profitable niche.”
“Fantastic. That’s exactly what every woman dreams of becoming. A relatable cautionary tale.”
“You’re not a cautionary tale.” She doesn’t roll her eyes, but it’s implied in her tone. “You’re a certified trainer who happens to be pregnant. Do you know how many women want guidance on how to work out safely during pregnancy?”
“Probably a lot,” I admit reluctantly.
“Exactly,” she says, pointing at me like she’s just won an argument. “And most of the information out there is either outdated or written by people who have never actually carried a baby. You’d be doing it in real time with them.”
I glance back at the laptop screen where my name sits at the top of the website she built. It’s weird seeing it like that, official and polished. I’ve always had clients, of course. Word-of-mouth referrals, people from the gym, a few local athletes who like my training style. But this makes it look like something bigger. Something solid. “You’re suggesting I post workouts while pregnant.”
“I’m suggesting you show women how to stay strong during pregnancy,” Leigh corrects.
“That still feels like I’m using my child as a marketing tool.”
Leigh tilts her head slightly, considering that. For once, she doesn’t immediately argue. “I get why that feels weird. But you wouldn’t be exploiting anything. You’d be helping people. And the blueberry can earn her keep.”
Blueberry. That’s what she’s been calling the fetus, since she thinks that’s about the size it is right now.
I fold my arms on the table and sigh. The thought of helping people is annoyingly persuasive. And if the blueberry is going to hijack my body, the least she can do is help pay the bills.
Leigh clicks around the website while I sit there processing the idea. She’s already added sections for online coaching, workout plans, and nutrition guidance. There’s even a blog page where she’s clearly planning to make me write things.
“When did you build all this?”
“Last night.”
“You built a full website overnight?”
“I don’t sleep,” she says simply. “I had time.”
“You really should talk to a doctor about that.”
