Keep my life the way it is or change it irrevocably.
I got pregnant while using the implant and condoms—impossible odds. You’d think I’d be cynical about the idea of fate considering the childhood I had, but I believe there’s good in everything. A grain of worthiness. Purpose.
Without my journey, I never would have moved to a city I adore.
I might never have met Darden, Brogan, and Cece.
I must believe in fate, or I’m just a kid someone abandoned.
What if my story was leading me here?
What ifthisbaby was meant to be?
People have left me my whole life. Foster families. My first love. Edward.
Could I let this baby go?
Clarity arrived on the way back from Central Park a few days ago.
Perhaps I knew the moment Cece jumped out singing Madonna because before the fear of the unknown kicked in, part of my heart filled withhope.
My own little family. With Cece and Brogan and Darden.
She—for some reason it feels like a girl—will be mine to love forever.
I’m brought back to the present as Dr.Lovell glances at my chart on her laptop. “Just to recap, you’re in the first trimester. You know the date of conception, but we also add two weeks from the date of your last period, so technically you’re fourteen weeks. We don’t have medical history for the father, but your blood work is great with no underlying conditions. You have some weight-loss issues, but your baby measures normally.” She hands over the ultrasound picture we took earlier. It’s just blobs of black and white, but I clench it tight.
Brogan gives me a high five. “That’s what I’m talking about. My girl is primed to push out a bowling ball in June!”
Dr.Lovell laughs. “Your baby is soft and flexible. Itwillfit through your birth canal.”
“Med school dropout here,” he says. “I get it, but I like the bowling-ball analogy. Makes Fran sound like a badass.”
I roll my eyes.
“What about her nausea?” he asks a bit later. “She’s a vomit machine.”
“Thanks,” I say dryly.
“We’ll keep a check on it. How are your moods?” Dr.Lovell asks.
“Not fit for humanity,” I say with a grimace. “Everything makes me cry, even episodes ofGilmore GirlsI’ve seen a hundred times.”
Brogan smirks. “When she tries to stop crying, it only makes her crymorebecause she’s pissed.”
“The nausea, the moods—it’s all to be expected,” she says. “For the nausea, focus on staying hydrated, and eat several smaller meals. Also,take naps to help with the mood swings.” She gives me a pamphlet with a list of healthy foods plus other information.
“Do ten Triscuits count as a meal?” I ask.
“No.”
My hands brush over my belly. “She’s going to be okay, right? Even though I’ve been living on cough drops, crackers, and coffee before I knew?”
She pats my hand. “Your appetite should increase now that your virus has passed. You’ve been sick. Don’t feel guilty, Francesca.”
My eyes catch on a framed diagram on her wall, a female abdomen with a full-term baby inside it. “Speaking of pushing out a baby ... will my vagina be the same, you know, afterwards?”
She sets aside her laptop and chuckles. “I’ll give you some info about pelvic-floor exercises.”