This Is Hardcore

Chapter 7

Each day was getting harder for me. I had to carry this large mass of a baby in my tummy. It was very obvious now that I was pregged. God help me.

It was November. A few months ago, I was busy serving eggs, cupcakes, pies and pasties to athletes in thr London 2012 Olympics and Paralympics. It wasn't an easy task, but I had to thank the LOCOG volunteers for helping Hannah and I distribute the goods to the athletes. Oh, and hell they loved it.

Now I am in my sixth month of idleness. But a relaxation it was not. I had to take care of a developing life inside my tummy. I had to slow diwn on my sugar cravings, and also I had to stay fit. This meant that I had to wake up earlier in the morning to jog through the whole of Fulham.

It's month seven. I was supposed to go to Great Ormond Street to have my first ultrasound, something that I should have done earlier, at August.

Danny was supposed to meet me outside his apartment, but he called me, and said,"Hun, I will be late-ish. I had to handle some deliveries at the bar." I love it when he says Hun to me. "Is it okay," he asked. I understood the need, so I agreed.

After I got myself ready, I went outside and hailed a cab. I told the driver to take me to GOSH. He took me there, and there I saw Hannah, and mum waiting for me. But no Danny.

"Danny says he's going to be a bit late," my sister reminded me. (Yes, it's a reminder for me.)

"I know," I sternly replied.

We started walking across the corridor. Mum started asking questions. "Wow, it is very big now! How old is it?", she asked with a beaming grin across her face.

"About seven months now," I replied, with a sly smile.

"So, tell me about Danny."   I told her. She laughed and laughed, and she asked more questions. Especially stupid ones, like 'Is he hot?', 'How is his face shaped like?', and the most idiotic of it all, 'Is he fat?' Although she is a bad interviewer and may be fired by the BBC--in a split second--I answered all her questions as politely as possible. After all, she is one of the last remaining Irish poets, and they cannot imagine anything without knowing the details.

I entered the ultrasound room. I was removed of my gadgetry, watch, and othed things that may be destroyed by radiation.

"Good morning, are you ready to start?", the doctor said. I nodded profusely.

I was asked to lie down on a bed or table for the scan. I tore off my clothing around my abdomen, and a special warm oil or gel is applied to my skin.

I was told that ultrasonic waves are inaudible and cause no sensation, though pressure from the transducer may be uncomfortable. The scan usually takes about 15 minutes. During the procedure, I can watch the images fromthe scanner thru a screen.

That's exactly what happened. Once the probe is in my tummy, I can immediately see the hazy, blue and black image through the CRT.

"It's a boy!", my gynecologist exclaimed. Wow!

My mother and Hannah kept on jeering around the room with the doctor. She kept on asking questions like, "What's gonna be his name?", "Have you told Danny yet?", and most intriguing of all, "When are you two lovebirds going to say I do?"

It made me wonder--when will Danny propose to me? When will that krupsack lay foundation to a long-lasting relationship? When's that nigga gonna be standin' at the altar, saying our 'I do's then kisses me?

This just doesn't seem right. Drunk sex was one, and at least it was safe. But pre-marraige unsafe sex that results to untoward, unintentional, and unintelligent pregnancy--that's another issue. (And a bigger one at that.)

While the doctor was signing off some papers, I felt that I had the gut to text Danny.

Orange is a great network.

Just as I was about to type hey, he called me. I answered it immediately.

"Hi, luv."

"Luv, where are you? I'm done here!"

"I'm at Brick Lane now, I'm on my way--"

Krrk. Shhk-beep-shk. Beeeeeeep.

"Welcome to Orange Mobile Phones. I'm sorry, but the number you just called is not available." What the fuck just happened? "Please leave your message after the tone." Why am I not talking to him and instead to this matronly lady that sounds just like my Mum?

Before the female could say "If you're done recording your message--," I tapped on END immediately.

"What did he say?" Mum asked.

"I don't know. But something is wrong."