I nervously shifted on the stiff sheets covering the thin hospital bed. I could see all of Dr. Kim’s, my obstetrician, qualifications—again—if I asked, so I shouldn’t be this anxious. It still made the visits uncomfortable. Especially for this visit’s cause.

“You can take your time.” Dr. Kim said softly. I read his nametag, Kim Joonmyeon: obstetrician. Just making sure it wasn’t an imposter before I tell him something quite personal.

I must have taken a longer pause than I thought because he added to his previous statement to try and get me to explain myself further. “I’ve heard it all. Don’t worry.”

I took a deep breath, attempting to focus on the humming of the AC unit instead of the words coming out of my mouth. “I’ve been really gassy.”

Dr. Kim smiled, and boy was it precious. If I wasn’t so worried about Nugget and my reputation, I’d go after him. “There’s no need to be on edge because of that. Your uterus is most likely pressing on your gastrointestinal tract. It’s a common occurrence during pregnancies.”

He seemed amused by the whole situation, but I was still concerned. I wasn’t there because of your average gas.

I felt the blood rush to my face as I admitted their origin. “They don’t come from the back, though. It’s,” I looked up, hopeful that he understood fully, but his face gave away nothing other than that he wanted me to finish. “It’s coming from the front.” How embarrassing.

I gently placed my hands on my hot cheeks as if it could preserve something by hiding the flushed skin. I felt the heat travel to my ears when I heard him chuckle some more.

“The baby’s body moving around or your body moving around,” he stopped for a bit to correct himself, then restarted, “Movement can easily make air go up there, and it has to come out sometime.” I saw the faintest trace of pink spread across his usually pale cheeks. “If that’s all, then.”

Dr. Kim picked up his clipboard and left the room. I heard faint, low scoffs paired with high pitched giggles.

I slowly got off the bed, carefully moving as to not accidentally “” any air up although that explanation for the gas doesn’t really sit well. There is no way my gas could be as intense as is because of moving wrong.

Rubbing my swollen belly, I scolded it softly for making me worry so much. After a humiliating walk out, I made my way straight home. After a quick pit stop for tea. Then straight home.

I plopped on the couch as I drank my tea, feeling satisfied. Apparently, Nugget enjoyed it just as much as I did because a wave of fluttering kicks started.

I’ve heard of women who have their ribs broken and organs bruised because of their babies hitting so hard, but Nugget was always gentle with me.

I practically inhaled the remainder of my tea, making a sick slurping noise that must have bothered the baby because I went into another…fit.

It started as a rumbling in my uterus and ovaries and made an audible wispy-whoosh sound as came out. From past experiences, spreading my legs lets the air pass better, so, shamelessly, I did so. The gust—because it is more comparable to that than simple gas—ruffled my skirt, letting is fall gently as is slowed and came to a halt.

Gas, huh?

“How can that man say this is normal?” I wondered aloud. My body responded by letting out a little puff of gas. This time from the back and accompanied by a smell most awful.

I knew pregnancies aren’t supposed to be like this. I saw my mother throughout her pregnancy with my sister, and the oddest behavior she displayed was an intense craving for peanut butter and onion sandwiches.

I was too embarrassed to record a fit to show the doctor how weird they truly are. Conveniently enough, they don’t happen in public. Often. I can name three excepting right off the back, but they tend not to happen in public.

The fits made me worry about my baby’s health. The first time it happened, two months ago, I immediately went in for an ultrasound to make sure everything was okay, and the ultrasound showed that it was perfectly healthy. Follow-ups showed the same, so I stopped going whenever they happened.

With my due date approaching, though, I wanted to find the underlying cause of it, but the appointment was fruitless. What if it caused a last-minute complication with my pregnancy? What if I had a fit during labor and Dr. Kim took the brunt of it?

I rubbed my stomach protectively at the thought before dozing off on the couch in a very unladylike position.

When I woke up, the light had long gone from the sky and I headed to the kitchen to munch on something. Unsurprisingly, throughout the pregnancy, I found myself eating a lot of sandwiches—the struggle is very real—and my number one craving was my old struggle sandwich: any bread with an uncooked hotdog and mayonnaise slathered on top. In the kitchen, that’s exactly what I prepared myself.

I ate my creation before cleaning up, tidying up the kitchen overall while I was there before going back to the living room.

Just as I was about to plop on the couch again, I took in my surroundings. Old, brown couch the only large thing in the small room. I started thinking about Nugget. When they are born, this probably won’t be enough room. I entertained the idea of renting a new place while I the grainy tele.

A horrible pain in my abdomen is what woke me up. I tried to massage it out, but it wouldn’t completely disappear, only lessening to come back stronger. I immediately thought of Nugget and grabbed my phone, dialing Dr. Kim as fast as humanly possible.