Original publication date February 28, 2016
I am…as big as a house. I worry it’s twins.
Graham greets me as I go to the fridge to get breakfast.
“I don’t see how I could get any bigger,” I say in an exhausted voice. I’m still not close enough to my due date to be this big. I mention this to Graham.
He gives me a look and says carefully, “Brielle, especially when you sit at the table like this, I’m not seeing your stomach.”
I smile and facetiously ask, “Oh you’re not?” I like this lingerie. I can still make it work, and I feel prettier in it than I do in my enormous nightgowns.
“No, I’m not, and it’s not fair.” His eyes lightly glare at me in a funny way.
“It’s not? Why?” I already know the answer.
He lets out a forced breath through his nose. “Because I have to get ready for work, and you know it.”
“Aw, such a shame you have to go to wor-“
He stops me before I can finish by kissing me with his syrup-flavored tongue. He moans a whine before encouraging me to stand.
“Will you have time?” I question.
“I’m just about there already,” he answers me cryptically.
After our woohoo, I start having contractions, really strong contractions. Both of us freaking out, Graham calls in to work and takes me to the hospital. It’s too soon to have the baby!
The doctors and staff get everything back under control, and the contractions stop. I’m ordered to take it easy and abstain from certain ‘extra-curricular activities.’
The time following this is very difficult for both of us. Graham hardly touches me, and I never realized how much I would miss it. Our love life reminds me of how we were in the beginning, when Graham was afraid of overstepping boundaries. In our beginning, I hadn’t realized how hard that was for him.
He works out a lot, making me miss him even more.
I don’t at all think he’s not attracted to me anymore, even if I still think I’m hideously huge. I think it’s more to do with fear of bringing on preterm labor again. Sometimes, I sit and watch him. When he sees me, he hits the punching bag even harder.
He also spends plenty of time at his desk, having brought some of his work home with him. Right now, it’s in the baby’s room. We haven’t decided where to put it once he or she is born. We still can’t afford to move.
One morning, I step out of the shower and wonder why I have to continuously dry my legs. Then it hits me: my water broke! I call out to Graham, thanking the maker that today is his day off.
When we arrive at the hospital, a real contraction hits me. (speaking of hitting, I want to hit that doctor who’s smiling while I’m in pain) Those preterm labor contractions weren’t easy, but they were a cakewalk compared to the all-out body torture that rampages through me like a herd of angry buffalo.
Graham is no help. He’s a victim of sim programming, so he runs around like a crazed lunatic while I’m escorted to the delivery room.
Dr. Smiley gets me set up in the delivery machine, and I worry that Graham will miss the birth of his first child because he can’t stop being an idiot.
“Look who I found!” a nurse happily pronounces as he walks in with my husband, who still hasn’t calmed down.
Irritated, I look over at him. “Graham, would you cool it?!”
He takes a few breaths. “Okay. Okay. I’m fine.” Then, the machine starts working on the baby extraction, and I’m happy Graham has a nurse standing next to him because he collapses like a deflated balloon onto the floor.
I hear Graham waking up as the machine pulls the baby out of me, and our little son is born! Nine pounds, four ounces, no wonder I was so big.
“It’s a boy?” Graham asks, sounding like he has more wits about him.
I just gaze at my precious little boy as he starts cooing at the ceiling.
Graham is standing again as I get up, spin into everyday clothes, and walk over to pick up my son.
I’d not wanted to be a mom this soon, but as I look down at him, I call myself crazy. I hold in my arms a little person that is half me, half Graham, and all perfect.
“Hello, baby Ethan,” I say to him softly.
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