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“Hello. How are you, Aurora?”Dr. Z introduces herself.
She’s known asthecelebrity obstetrician in LA. We’ve been meeting virtually for the last five weeks, but today is our first in-person appointment.
“I’m pretty good. Still experiencing fatigue and morning sickness, but that’s to be expected.”
Once I got past the initial shock of my pregnancy and shared the news with my grandmother, my entire mindset shifted. Gram went from depressed to overjoyed at the thought of having a grandbaby to love, and that put everything into perspective. It’s as if the baby motivated her to live and overcome her stroke. I haven’t seen her with this much energy and life since before my grandfather’s diagnosis.
Holding my hand, tears streaming down her face, she said, “A child is always a blessing. You were an unexpected blessing, and I’ve never regretted raising you, not for a single moment.”
I bawled my eyes out, washing away all my shame and guilt.
We’re having a baby, and I couldn’t be more elated.
Unfortunately, Emily doesn’t agree. I don’t blame her. This is a tremendous responsibility that changes everything. I love her, and her support means the world to me, but the more I express my excitement, the more suffocating she becomes.
Not just suffocating—irritated and overbearing. We disagree on many aspects of this pregnancy, particularly on how to handle paternity. I’ve asked her not to tell anyone. I don’t want the news to get back to my ex—I’m not ready for that nightmare. That created even more tension between us. I sense she sees this baby as either a paycheck or a burden.
And I’ll never let either of those opinions become reality.
That’s not to say balancing a modeling career and pregnancy is a cakewalk. I’m nauseated all the time, tired, and already underweight. I’m navigating the best I can.
I’ve always had a rocky relationship with food, but one thing’s for certain: I don’t want to deprive my baby of any nutrients that might impact his or her development. The nutritionist has assured me babies require fewer calories than expected. If I eat healthy, take my prenatal vitamins, and get sufficient rest, my baby will develop as nature intends.
My anxiety, however, is still a work in progress.
“All our tests have officially confirmed your pregnancy. Congratulations! Now, all we need is an ultrasound to assess the baby’s development.”
This is why I’m at this appointment alone. I wanted nothing to spoil this incredible moment. I only wish my grandmother could be here.
Dr. Z flips through my medical chart. The technician fusses with what I assume is the ultrasound machine, and I settle onto the exam bed with a wave of nervous anticipation.
The tech applies the cool gel to my barely noticeable baby bump, and I take slow, measured breaths to calm my nerves.
Everything goes silent, the air seeming to stand still until the sonic lullaby of my baby’s heartbeat fills the room. Tears burn my eyes.
An image gradually appears on the screen, and I blink to clear my sight. Tiny facial features, delicate fingers, and the flicker of a heartbeat become visible. My heart swells with love and happiness.
I’ll do anything to protect and provide for this child, even if I have to do it alone. All my worries seem petty in comparison.
The sonographer points out different parts of my baby’s body and explains the significance of each detail and measurement. “Using 4D technology, we can determine the sex of your baby as early as fourteen weeks,” she says. “Would you wanna to know?”
I arch my neck to clear my throat, my voice thick with emotion. “Yes, that’d be amazing. Thank you.”
The technician chuckles and points. “No need to thank me. Your little boy is proudly showing off his goods.”
A little boy.Mylittle boy.
An unexpected wave of longing comes over me. His father should be here.
My tears now hold both joy and sorrow. A part of me regrets not searching for Ethan Blackwood, the former hockey player on the East Coast. I haven’t even allowed myself to Google him, too fearful of what I might find.
A perfect life, a perfect wife, a perfect family.
He could have other children.
No guarantee he’d be standing beside me, elated and proud. Quite the contrary—he made it clear he was married and detested the idea of a pregnancy.
Once again, I’m alone in this.