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Michael looked thoughtful. “It’s something to think about,” he said. “It would be safer, both for you and the babies, especially considering everything Dominique said this morning about those new threats.”
Babies? Babies? What kind of alternative reality was I now living in, where suddenly my boyfriend is talking about babies?
Then Dr. Delgado (who is only an internist, after all, not an ob-gyn) glanced at my foot and said it was bruised, not broken, told me stay off it for the next few days, gave me the name of an ob-gyn (for “future appointments”), loaded me down with prenatal vitamins and information, told me everything was going to be all right, and sent us both along our way, cheerfully wishing me luck with the “babies.”
• Note to self: Do not sign up with any more physicians who are male. Female physicians only, from now on. Male physicians cannot relate, and do not understand.
CHAPTER 62
10:05 a.m., Thursday, May 7
Inside the HELV
What am I going to tell Sebastiano? He’s going to kill me. The design I picked out for my wedding gown is never going to work now.
Wait, what am I thinking? Wedding gown? Who cares about a wedding gown. There are human lives growing inside me.
But seriously, that dress is going to look hideous.
CHAPTER 63
10:10 a.m., Thursday, May 7
Inside the HELV Rate the Royals Rating: 1
I guess I’m still in a state of shock because all I can think about is not my “babies,” but how hungry I am.
But what are women who are pregnant even allowed to eat?
CHAPTER 64
10:15 a.m., Thursday, May 7
Hi-Life Restaurant
Upper East Side
It turns out women who are pregnant can eat whatever they want, unless it’s raw, unwashed, or undercooked, seafood, has caffeine or alcohol, is unpasteurized, or contains the word herbal, because there’s no data on what “herbs” do to developing fetuses.
(Michael has already downloaded seven pregnancy books to his phone.)
Weirdly, I don’t feel like reading any of the pregnancy books (even though he really wants me to) or the literature Dr. Delgado gave me. I’d rather just eat my eggs (thoroughly scrambled, because undercooked eggs can contain bacteria) with whole-wheat toast.
I figure I should eat as much as possible now, before the morning sickness hits (although, according to one of the books Michael has downloaded, not everyone gets this. Maybe I’ll be one of the lucky ones. Except my boobs are killing me, so I don’t know).
I think Michael’s going to make a good dad. Not that I ever thought otherwise, but it’s been only an hour since he found out, and he’s already canceled all my appointments for the day (informing Dominique vaguely that I’m “under the weather”) and has the names picked out. Adam for a boy and Leah for a girl. It’s entertaining to watch.
“Oh, really? What if it’s two boys?” I asked. “Or two girls?”
Now he’s looking frantically through the baby-name app he just downloaded. “Crap. I never thought of that.”
“Also,” I added, “if we have a girl, we can’t call her Leah. Because then she’s going to be Princess Leah.”
“Oh my God.” His eyes lit up. “I didn’t think of that. Princess Leia of Genovia? That’s fantastic.”
“No, it’s not. Of course, we could name the other one Luke if it’s a boy—”
He sucked in his breath, his eyes lighting up even more.
