October 3, 2011 in B
My baby has a strong heartbeat, according to the sonographer sweeping her device across the smooth cold expanse of my stomach.
Huh, I said it: ‘my baby’. My shrink will be pleased, but I feel that something essential of me is slipping away. They say that it’s normal in pregnancy to feel a little disassociated, or resistant to the changes that sweep over your body.
Turns out they don’t react too well when you tell them it isn’t your baby. Each time I’ve told someone that, they look at my belly and back to me as if somehow I haven’t worked out what my massive bump is all about. It’s easier for them to think I’m mad than to acknowledge the truth of my situation.
No, I haven’t slept with anyone in the last year, and no I’ve not drunk or taken drugs in that time. I explain this in great detail each time, but they all think I got impregnated when I wasn’t looking, or am a pathological liar.
The lady in the light blue scrubs is trying to hide it but I know from her faltering overly cheerful voice and the way the colour drained from her face when she looked at the screen that something has deeply worried her.
I wonder if they’ll take me seriously now?