2. The Antenatal Class
As soon as Rose stepped into the room, she knew it was so not her sort of thing.
Partly because everyone looked so damn solemn and serious, whilst all Rose wanted to do was giggle at the pictures on the walls of all the cute and not-so-cute babies that had obviously been born to prior attendees of this centre. But mostly because she was on her own, whilst all the other mums-to-be had someone here with them. She started to regret turning down Jackie's offer of coming with her.
She'd put this off for as long as she could, not wanting to really socialise with other pregnant women in case they started asking questions that she didn't want to answer. Like where Daddy was, for instance.
Oh god, thought Rose, when she realised that all eyes had turned on her as she hobbled in, alone; that's definitely gonna come up within at least the first three minutes.
She gave a fake smile to the lady who was holding the session, and sat down on one of the bean bags. Why? she thought to herself, as she struggled to get comfy, why pick seats that are basically glorified cushions that barely come off the floor, for pregnant women to sit on, who can't even bend down to tie their own shoelaces? Unnecessary trauma, that. She'd prefer an armchair.
"Hello, there, I'm Annette," said the lady, in a soft Scottish accent that reminded her of someone off of Balamory (she'd been checking out the kids' channels recently. They were pretty cool, really. That was an aspect of having the baby that she was genuinely looking forward to, as opposed to some mothers who couldn't bear the immature, toddler-friendly television shows...Oh. Maybe that said something about Rose's maturity, or lack thereof. Ah well. She blamed the Doctor and his Disney obsession rubbing off on her.)
"Hi," Rose said, matching Annette's cheery tone of voice. "My name's Rose."
"How far gone are you, Rose?"
Oh dear, there's another question I can't answer truthfully. She had no idea how long her pregnancy with a half-Gallifreyan baby was supposed to take, but she was already nearly ten months and only looked six.
She coughed awkwardly. "Six months."
"Exactly six months? Or six and a half? How many weeks, dear?" asked someone to her left.
That's another reason why I don't like some pregnant women. They insist on measuring time in weeks. Weeks! What's with that? she thought.
No one else measured time like that! She just about remembered it was a Thursday, for god's sake; how was she expected to remember how many weeks had past? How many fake weeks had past, for that matter, seeing as she was lying about the six months thing...
"I'm not sure," she sighed apologetically. "Maths has never been my strong point."
They all looked at her as if she were an alien. Which she wasn't, thanks very much; she was just providing a habitat for one. She smiled at that thought, and rubbed her belly affectionately. She really did love being pregnant, especially now she was long over the morning sickness stage, and luckily the back ache and all that hadn't kicked in yet; she just hated all this nonsense that she had to talk about with fellow expecting parents.
"James and I have decided to call our baby Petunia," commented the woman on her right, patting her arm to get her attention. Rose turned to her and looked at her blankly. "You know? Like the flower?" she said slowly, as if Rose was stupid. The woman continued, "I just thought I'd say, because your name is Rose, and that's a flower too."
Rose pressed her lips together firmly, trying not to laugh. She wished the Doctor were here so that they could take the mickey out of this couple later. Because seriously, Petunia?
"I'm thinking of calling mine Rhododendron," Rose replied, managing to keep a straight face. "You know, like the invasive alien plant species that the Victorians planted in their gardens? The ones which are really hard to get rid of, 'cos they out-compete all the other plants? Native to South Asia, they are." Had to get the word alien in there, she giggled to herself, simply had to.
The couple stared back at her in horror. "That's a bit excessive, isn't it?" James asked.
Rose shrugged. "It's very close to my heart. I'll call it Rhodo for short."
Annette cleared her throat loudly. "So anyway, if we can return to our discussion of earlier -"
"We're calling ours Tequila," announced a teenager in the corner, who was chewing gum expertly.
Her partner asked, "Are we?"
"Yeah," she replied.
"Cool!" he exclaimed enthusiastically.
"That's a very innovative name," commented a woman with Cecilia written on a white label stuck to her lapel (she was obviously someone who'd tried and failed to get everyone to wear fun labels so that everyone would know everyone...yeah, Rose was glad she missed the ice breaking conversations of the beginning of the sessions, if it involved things like that.)
"Yeah!" said the teenage girl. "Like after the drink, right?"
"Yes," said Cecilia stiffly. "I think I understood that."
"'Cos it's sort of poetic, right, 'cos Tequila was conceived when...you guessed it! We'd had too much tequila! Haha! Clever or what?" she enthused.
Rose wanted to go bash her own head against a wall. But she didn't think it was worth the effort of struggling to get off that bloody bean bag, so she stayed put.
Everyone seemed relieved when somebody changed the subject. "So hi Rose, I'm Paula!" announced a woman with fantastic ginger hair (the Doctor would be jealous, thought Rose with a grin.) "Where's daddy, then? Is he a big high flyer in the city and couldn't make it to your antenatal class with you?"
Rose's grin faded. "Er." Great. Just great. That bloody question again. "Well, the thing is, he's, um...we're sort of not, er..."
"Oh, I'm so sorry, are you divorced?" Paula asked, faux-sympathetically. Her husband winced, as if he knew how tactless his wife was being but was used to not being able to do anything about it.
"Oh, I know what it is!" exclaimed the brunette lady opposite her. She nodded knowingly.
"I don't think you do - " began Rose, but she continued.
"I bet you're one of these independent women who go at it alone!"
"Or are you a surrogate?"
"Or are you a lesbian?"
"Or is he dead?"
"Or are you 'just friends?'"
"Or was it a one night stand?"
"Enough!" Rose exclaimed, fed up with the bombardment of suggestions being thrown at her from every angle in the room. Everyone shut up pretty sharpish, as everyone usually did when Rose used her authoritative 'let's get things done and kick some arse' tone of voice, whether it be at Torchwood or directed towards aliens or even simply amongst her family.
"The father of my baby is a man called the Doctor; my best friend. He's a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey in the constellation of Kasterborous, and he's currently residing inside his time-and-spaceship known as the TARDIS, where I used to live with him, in another universe; a universe which, coincidently, I am originally from, where the mint chocolate chip ice cream tastes like mint chocolate chip ice cream and not something weird and just very wrong, quite frankly; Pete's World, sort it out. A universe where Britain has a Prime Minister, not a President, and where the only zeppelins in the sky are during wartime or on Zeppelin Appreciation Day in the year 2106, which I've been to, actually, and it's not nearly as boring as it sounds. Anyway, back to 'Daddy;' the fact that he's an alien means that this baby is half-alien, so I've honestly got no clue about what to expect about the length of pregnancy/actual birth itself. I'm trapped in this stupid parallel universe because of the Battle of Canary Wharf, and it's impossible for the Doctor to come back and get me or else two whole universes would collapse.
"So people, considering the fact that I'm not tearing the universes apart to get back to him so that he can actually find out he's gonna be a dad is keeping you lot alive, I really don't need you yabbering on at me about stupid baby names and questions concerning my baby's parentage, when all I wanna do is get off this bloody bean bag, go home to the universe I was born in and the man I love, and eat mint chocolate chip ice cream that tastes right and cuddle under a den we've made with duvets and pillows and chairs and such and laugh about the funny people I met today at an antenatal class who just didn't know when to shut UP."
Rose inhaled deeply after finishing her tirade, finally stopping to breathe.
Everyone stared at her in baffled silence, mouths hanging open inelegantly.
A random man, who'd not said a word to her previously, spoke up, "There's never been a battle at Canary Wharf."
Rose blinked slowly, then exploded, "That's because it didn't happen in this universe, obviously!"
Everyone flinched, and Rose watched them all swallow convulsively and glance furtively at the door, as if assessing how best to restrain her until they'd phoned someone to have her sectioned.
She closed her eyes, counted to five, then staggered to her feet. "Right then!" she said brightly, backing towards the door. "Thanks for a lovely time, guys. See you never again!"
On her way out of the building, Rose didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The choice wasn't really hers, though, because soon she was doing both, completely beyond her control. She had to sit in her car until the tears were all gone and the residual amusement had faded. And then, she turned on the ignition, and drove back to her mum's.
