My bump is so big it probably could have its own ZIP Code. I look like I’m carrying twins, but there’s only one baby in there. I know, because I asked the technician three times to double check we didn’t have a stowaway hiding in my uterus.
Sleep is impossible. I can’t remember the last time I had a full night’s sleep without waking to pee, or because of pain. My daughter seems to find the worst places to lodge herself in.
I can hear Jensen somewhere in the penthouse. He’s not exactly quiet, which usually doesn’t bother me, but right now I could smother him with a pillow. How dare he be able to walk without huffing?
Don’t get me started on the fact he can bend over.
I ignore the onesie, instead focusing on the nursery. I love this room. It’s soft and delicate. Feminine without being obvious. The designer incorporated everything I wanted, right down to the nursing chair in the window that overlooks the city.It’s a beautiful, calming space, and although our daughter won’t use it properly for the first year, I like knowing it’s ready for her.
We pretty much have everything we need now, except for our daughter. I thought she would’ve made an appearance already, but apparently she’s cozy in there.
I turn to grab some more clothes and the moment I move, my belly tightens. It ripples through me, leaving me gasping for air.
Oh, shit. Ow. Fuck.
I grip the edge of the dresser as my legs go weak for a second.
Breathe. In and out.
Don’t panic. It passes as fast as it hit and leaves me aching.
Damn Braxton Hicks.
I’ve been having them all week, and this morning they’ve been persistent.
The first time one hit, I thought Jensen was going to have a heart attack. He was ready to call Dr. Patel or drag me to the ER.
My muscles relax after a moment, and eventually I peel my fingers off the edge of the dresser.
“Okay, sweetheart,” I say, rubbing my bump, “can you cut Mommy a break today, please?”
I open the drawer and add the new stash of onesies Jensen came home with yesterday to the over-the-top pile already inside.
Everything is so small and so cute. I can’t wait to see our baby wearing these things.
I’m humming to myself when it happens again. This time, it’s a sharp pain that radiates across the top of my bump and through my back. The previous cramp had hurt but this one steals my breath.
I bend over, trying to loosen the clamp inside my gut. It doesn’t help.
I try to shout for Jensen, but my throat is so tight I can’t make a sound.
It takes longer to pass and when it does, I find my voice. “Jensen.” His name comes out strangled, wrong. But I hear him coming.
Relief floods me as he steps inside. He’s here. And I need him.
“Mia? Is it time?”
“I don’t know.” My voice comes out in a harsh rasp. “I’ve been cramping all morning, but it wasn’t bad. I thought it was just Braxton Hicks. But now it really hurts.”
I squeeze my eyes shut as the aftershocks cut through me. His fingers wrap around my bicep, the other around my back, holding me up. “How far apart? Are they regular?”
“I’m not sure. It’s not like I’m timing them, Jensen,” I snap and then instantly regret it. “Sorry.”
He swallows my anger without a word, just kissing my head. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart. You’re in pain. You’re allowed to be pissed.”
A cramp—no, a contraction—rips through my back, stealing the air from my lungs. I grip Jensen so hard I don’t know how I’m not bruising him. I breathe through my nose, but it doesn’t help.
My lungs don’t feel like they’re working.
