zikkifan150

Two little lines.

That’s all it took for Miranda to realize her life was about to change dramatically.  The humor! Oh, the humor of it all- that a quickie in the back of a cab catalyzed by Johnnie Walker Black and cigars would lead to something so large, so dramatic as to shift her course in life completely. Was she happy? Of course not. Was she unhappy? She didn’t know. Her husband would be thrilled- just another building block on the road to his “perfect family” characterized by an obedient wife and three A+, boarding school children. Miranda scoffed. All she ever asked of him was a nice tennis bracelet and to accompany her to parties. She never expected this. She never expected to be forced to play the role of the dutiful wife. Her mother would love it. She had been begging Miranda to have children for years, and she had all but given up hope when Miranda reached forty. She wouldn’t have to hope or beg any longer. Or would she? Miranda didn’t have to have the child. It could be taken care of with a quick trip to a clinic. Something about the idea sent a chill through Miranda’s spine. It’s not that she was at all morally opposed to abortion, she just didn’t feel right about it. Maybe it was divine intervention and the child growing inside of her was supposed to become some sort of Mother Theresa figure. She laughed. She didn’t think that anything growing inside of her could be good- nothing with her genes, and she didn’t much fancy her husband’s, either. Maybe it was selfishness. The idea of another her walking around both terrified and charmed her. The child could be just like her! Or just like her husband… And she wasn’t sure she wanted a child to grow up to be either of them. Their lives were too hard; too filled with lies, fake smiles, and fake friends. It wasn’t as if she had to raise the child to grow up that way, though. She could teach it how to play monopoly, ride a bike, and take it to public school (okay, maybe not that last one…), but she could give it as normal a life as she could- and hope that it took. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, having a child. So that was it- she was going to do it. Probably the most important decision of her life, and she was making it on her own.

“Miranda, what are you wearing to the party tonight?”

There he was, intruding on her time alone.

“How about that little strapless number you wore to the Gautier party last month?”

Miranda, finally deciding to face the situation, threw the pregnancy test in the trash can and walked out.

“Well, darling, that sounds just fine to me.”

Her husband nodded, in that way only fake husbands can do; that clipped, direct nod that gave approval to whatever their wives were doing. Miranda detested it.

He walked over behind her. “You know, you looked really beautiful in that dress.”

Miranda tensed up as she felt his hands caressing her waist.

“I can’t wait to see it on you again.”

His hands traveled down.

Miranda shut her eyes.

“Stop.”

“Oh, come on, Mir…”

She stepped out of his ever closing embrace.

“I- we can’t.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and wrung his hands.

“What is it? You know, if you didn’t want me, you didn’t have to marry me.”

Miranda sighed and felt a small tear drop trickle down her cheek. She wiped it away before her husband could notice.

She turned to face him unapologetically.

“I’m pregnant.”

She walked out of the room.

“Where are you going?” He called after her.

She laughed at the humor of it all.

“To call my mother.”

Three months later and people were beginning to notice.

It wasn’t that Miranda had been actively trying to disguise it, she just hadn’t called attention to it.

But here was no hiding it when her size two frame went up to a six.

There was talk that she had just been packing on too many dinners with Patrick. Or that the divorce had weighed in on her weight.

Ah, yes; the divorce.

Apparently her husband’s talk about wanting a normal family had been just that; talk.

He promised to come see the baby when it was born, but he didn’t want any of the responsibilities of a co-parent.

Of course, Miranda was already planning to slap a child support payment on him large enough to buy a small country. She had no doubt her lawyers would succeed.

Nigel was the first to say something to her about the pregnancy.

“Darling, I expect to be made godmother after keeping this secret. Do you know how much money Irv’s offered me to rat you out?”

She had laughed. Nigel had balls. So did Irv.

He was trying anything he could to get her out of his hair. Apparently he thought if she was pregnant, she wouldn’t be able to do her job competently anymore, which, in his mind, would give him right to fire her.

It isn’t like it would ever work, but Miranda didn’t want the trouble. She had enough to deal with.

Headlines were popping up all over New York announcing that Runway’s Editor-in-Chief was expecting.

She knew this would happen, but she just didn’t know how unhappy about it all she would be.

Four months.

Twins.

Twins.

No, no. This wouldn’t do.

Miranda was being gracious enough allowing one child to live inside of her. She didn’t need two hogging extra space.

If her doctor had expected some sort of pleasant reaction, he got a surprise.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” She yelled.

“Well, apparently one child was blocking the other on the ultrasound…which is also why we couldn’t tell the sex until now.”

Miranda was taken aback.
“Well?”

The doctor smiled nervously.

“Two girls.”

Girls. I’m having girls. It was as if suddenly these nameless, faceless parasites in her body were people. Her people.

Five months.

All the symptoms were taking effect.

Miranda would run out of the office two to three times an hour, either to pee or throw up. It was beginning to get in the way of her meetings, especially when the meetings were with important people who didn’t much fancy the editor running out on them five or six times.

She was no longer in control…of anything. Not her work, not her life, not her bladder, not her stomach….everything was spinning out of control; and that was just not good for the control-freak Miranda was.

She also wasn’t enjoying this new onset of emotions. She would fire someone and then, for the first time in her life, feel guilty about it. Twice she had fired assistants brought back to her office so that she could apologize and offer them stationary.

She felt like she was losing her mind.

Six Months

Oh, this was not good.

Not good at all.

She couldn’t stop eating. Worse yet, she didn’t want to stop eating.

She knew she was supposed to be eating for three, but this was a little ridiculous.

In the morning she would have eggs, bacon, toast, and jelly. Then she would eat a donut, slathered in jelly, and a milkshake.

She couldn’t wait for lunchtime, so she would have a twinkie.

When lunchtime came, she would have her assistant pick up a 24-ounce steak for her with a side of baked potato and French fries.

Snack time came again, and she would down two glasses of orange juice and a piece of chocolate cake.

For dinner she would go out with a friend, order the most expensive thing on the menu, and follow it up with another piece of cake.

She wouldn’t be surprised if after this was all over she would end up on Jerry Springer as one of those six hundred pound women that couldn’t get out of bed. Luckily, she did have extra energy at this point, which she used to work out and fire more assistants.

Seven Months

The divorce was final.

Miranda’s husband moved out of the townhouse, and left her alone with her three maids and cook.

It was harder for her to get around now, but she was still managing on her own. She wasn’t sure what she would do when she got bigger, though. She supposed she would just have to have her mother live with her.

Over my dead body.

Things at work weren’t getting any better. She now had clackers running up to her and asking to feel her belly, as if she was some sort of side show performer. She had them fired immediately, of course.

Then again, she was getting more help around the office. Nigel was taking a bigger workload, as were her assistants. She loved to see them sweat over it.

Eight Months

She wasn’t allowed to work.

She wasn’t allowed to work.

Her doctor informed her that because of her age and the fact that she was carrying twins, she was a high-risk patient.

Which meant she couldn’t leave the house until she delivered.

She wanted to hit him. She wanted to tell him that it was ridiculous and that she would be at work in the morning just like she normally was, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good.

So she stayed in bed like the good girl she was supposed to be, but hell if she was going to let someone else run the magazine.

She had her assistants running in and out of her townhouse all day, and had every little email or change to the magazine forwarded to her house.

She was almost enjoying her time at home, except for the nagging loneliness.

Miranda hadn’t ever been one to need company, but she began to crave it.

Nine Months

What a time.

She was almost there, and she couldn’t wait.

Of course, she was excited about the coming of the girls, but she was much more excited to get back to work. It could easily be said that the magazine had suffered while she was gone, and it was said a lot. Even Irv was calling her and begging her to put a little more time into things and come up to the office. She reveled in it. She began to love the attention. She loved how everyone was finally realizing how little could get done without her there.

Maybe this pregnancy would be a wonderful thing after all.

She had gotten everything prepared for the girls’ arrival. Her assistants had effectively stopped having lives in order to ready the nursery and baby proof the townhouse.

Essentially, Miranda had gotten through the pregnancy without having to do a single thing in preparation for the birth or the children, and she loved it.