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“I didn’t … Me and Jake … I mean Mr. Ryder … did not plan this pregnancy.”
Dr. Knightly’s eyes widened. “You didn’t, huh?” she whispered.
“No,” I replied. “In fact, we aren’t even dating. Truth is, I’m not … well, I don’t exactly feel ready to have a kid. And I need to know, Dr. Knightly. I need to know what to do.”
“Well,” said Dr. Knightly, steepling her fingers as she pondered my desperate fate.What must she be thinking of you?said a particularly unpleasant voice from somewhere in the back of my skull.
“Look, first off, don’t be embarrassed about it. This is a wonderful thing to happen. Mr. Ryder’s very lucky,” she said. There was more than a slightly wacky look in her eye as she did.
“I suppose the most important thing to remember is that your body’s a home for the little guy—or gal,” she began. “So, you’ve got to ask yourself. Are you feeding your body right? Are you doing anything that may impact your health—and, by extension, your baby’s? Are you a smoker?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. My mom quit smoking when she was pregnant with me, and had told me, on my first day of middle school, that if she ever saw me with a cigarette in my mouth, I could kiss my record player goodbye!
“Heavy drinker at all?” said Dr. Knightly.
“Not really,” I replied. Okay, so I liked the occasional glass of wine before bed on a weeknight. And when I’d worked at Bolar Air, me and the girls had gone out most Fridays. But it wasn’t excessive, for sure.
“Drugs?” said Dr. Knightly. “Pot? Cocaine? Opiates?”
“What?” I replied. “No … obviously not.”
“Sorry, sorry!” said Dr. Knightly, waving her hands in front of her. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. It’s just … you know. Sometimes unwanted pregnancy stems from a certain kind of …lifestyle,” she mouthed.
Jesus. Talk about insensitivity.Dr. Knightly wasn’t exactly the cuddly type. Plus, beneath that geeky exterior, I could tell she was paying close attention to me.
“Now, you may find you want to eat more, and that’s fine—remember, you’re eating for two now! At this stage, your body’s relatively like itself, so carry on as you were—any exercise routines and whatnot. But my main advice is just to trust your instincts. A couple of things. If you exercise a lot, well, great. But if you don’t, don’t start too hard now. No more than fifteen minutes, three times a week. Be gentle. I’ve got some good information on pelvic floor exercises if you need it! And try to cut down on caffeine if you’re a heavy user. One cup of coffee a day. There’s a link between heavy caffeine use and underweight pregnancies. As for adoption and the rest—”
“Adoption?” I repeated.
Dr. Knightly looked at me, still smiling that weird, fake smile.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just assumed that since the pregnancy was unwanted, you’d be considering—”
“I said it was unplanned. I’m not saying this baby is … unwanted.”
“Oh,” she said, looking around as if to find something to take off the social awkwardness.
“The rest … well, the rest we can talk about at your next appointment. Good luck!”
And with that, she pushed me out of her office. The door clunked shut, and I sat there with about a million more questions, and no one to answer them.
I’dthoughtmywomanlyinstincts would kick in when pregnancy happened. I had no idea why I’d thought that, but until the moment I knew, I sort of assumed that everything just happened naturally. I hadn’t thought about my diet. Or exercise. Or how my life would change, forever.
For one, would I still be able to fly? Was it safe? I knew the answer to that, of course. There was no link between flying regularly and unsafe pregnancies. But somehow, now thatIwas pregnant, I was worried about it. I thought about banging on Dr. Knightly’s door and asking her, but then I thought better of it. It wasn’t an ideal state of affairs, but I was obviously going to need to do some research myself.
I was already googling statistics on my phone by the time I left her office but as I did, the screen went dark and Jake’s name popped up. I sighed with frustration. Did he have to call menow?
I answered the call as I stood outside the doctor’s office in downtown Chicago, hailing a cab.
“How are you?” Jake’s deep, rough voice sounded alert and anxious.This can’t be easy for him, I thought.
“I’m fine, Jake. Honestly.”
“How was the checkup?”
“Jeez.Normal, for Chrissakes.”
“You sure? What did the doctor say?”
