Bridget Jones's Baby (5 page)

T
UESDAY 26
S
EPTEMBER

9 a.m. Obstetrician's office, London.
“So, which of the times do you think I would have got pregnant on?” I said, hopefully.

“Does it matter?” said Dr. Rawlings, a stern woman with a crisp, humourless manner.

“Yes! Such a special moment! We want to know which one it is so we can treasure it.”

“Well, you can't. You'll have to treasure both of them.”

“But surely one date is more likely than the other?”

“Actually, one's a bit early, and the other's a bit late. Are you sure there wasn't another ‘treasurable occasion' in between?”

“Quite sure, thank you,” I said, primly. “So, of the two, which one would you go for?”

“No idea: both equally likely.”

“Have a guess.”

“No.”

“Just pretend you're putting money on a horse.”

“No.”

“What about the scan?”

“Ten to thirteen weeks: you're thirteen.”

“Will that show when the conception was?”

“No. Now call this number to fix a date for the scan,” she said, getting up. “And you'll be able to bring the daddy with you, won't you?”

Distinctly heard her adding, under her breath, “If you can work out which one he is.”

“Just out of interest…” I burst out, suddenly.

“Yeeees?”

“If someone did have an element of confusion about who the father was…”

“You need to get samples from them—blood, hair, fingernails, teeth.”

“Teeth?”

“No, not teeth, Bridget,” she said wearily. “Hair, fingernails, blood, saliva—all better than teeth.”

“And if someone wanted to get the DNA from the baby?”

“You need an amniocentesis. Which is probably a good idea, anyway, when you're a geriatric mother.”

“GERIATRIC MOTHER?”

“Yes. Over the age of thirty-six you are, technically, a geriatric mother.”

T
HURSDAY 5
O
CTOBER

“Look on the bright side,” Tom was saying, as he, Shaz and Magda walked me to the amniocentesis. “You'll be able to claim your pension and child support at the same time.”

“This is just so stressful!” Magda was hyperventilating. “Bridget, you can't have a baby without a father. One father.”

“No, honestly, Magda, it'll be absolutely fine,” I said, suddenly retching.

“Darling, anything we can do to help?” said Tom.

“Thanks, Tom. Could you get me a baked potato? Oh, and a chocolate croissant and some bacon. I'm scared; I don't want a great big needle inside me.”

“Look, the whole thing's completely unnecessary anyway,” said Shaz. “If it starts dragging you towards every attractive woman you pass, you'll know it's Daniel's. And if it feels like it's got a poker up its arse, it's Mark Darcy's.”

7 p.m. My flat.
Just returned from heaven/narrowly averted amnio nightmare.

“So, the baby's okay?” I said, as Dr. Rawlings slithered the ultrasound over my stomach.

“Sound as a bell. Don't worry, you're not the first woman not to realize she's pregnant and spend the first few months still having little drinkies. Here, you take a look at that.”

She turned the screen towards me and that was it. It was love. She was all blurry—with a little round head, like, like…a baby. A miniature person inside me! A nose, a mouth, little fists up near her mouth!—the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

“Right!” said Dr. Rawlings. She turned round holding a giant needle. It was insane. It was about a foot long. “Now, I do have to tell you, there are certain risks of miscarriage with amniocentesis, particularly at your age, but these have to be weighed against…”

“Get away from me!” I yelled, jumping up from the table. “What are you DOING? Are you out of your mind? You'll MURDER my baby! You'll skewer her like Hamlet from behind the arras.”

Found myself, to my alarm, holding my stomach tenderly like one of the Smug Mothers at the christening.

“Do you want to feel my bump?” I said.

“I just did, Bridget. That's how we just saw the nice picture of the lovely baby, remember? Now, are we going to get on with this?”

“No, no, it's fine,” I gabbled, gathering my stuff. “No risks, no DNA. Just don't come near my baby with that needle.”

S
ATURDAY 7
O
CTOBER

Calories 4,824. (But am pregnant, right? So world of food is my oyster. Though not oysters, obviously, as toxic to baby.) Toasted bagels: 3. (Potassium, or fiber?) Cheese 8 oz. (Protein.) (But not goats cheese—soft cheese toxic to baby.) Broccoli: 3 florets. (Excellent Crossover Food, but doesn't count, as threw up after—baby hates broccoli.) Cheesy potatoes: 3. (Baby loves cheesy potatoes, and unborn babies have an instinctive knowledge of what they
need.
)

4 p.m.
Just back from baby shopping. Have bought completely adorable peach playsuit with a floral bandana from ILoveGorgeous and laid it out on the bed, for all the world like it is a little baby girl. Almost wonder if could purchase doll baby to dress it up in to practice, but would that be creepy? Am so excited but at the same time find self feeling strangely lazy, sleepy and distracted, almost as if am a bit stoned. Must make sure no one finds out about this at work just yet. Also probably not tell Mum just yet. Also am definitely going to really mentally address the issue of the father. Definitely.

But will just take a minute to relish how lovely it is. I'm going to have a baby!