Except “peanut” isn’t the right word anymore. According to Dr. Martin, who took measurements of the baby from the ultrasound, my peanut is now about four and a half inches long and over four ounces. It’s the “overfour ounces” that caused her to warn me that this little person might be a big baby.
That’s when I think of Nate. He’s big. Very big. So, if this baby is, in fact, big, it’s his fault. Because while I’m voluptuous, I wasn’t a big baby. I weighed in at seven pounds, eight ounces,thankyouverymuch. “Big jerk.” I’m muttering to myself, because if the doctor is right, I’m going to have to push out a giant child thanks tohim,and it just pisses me off all over again.
Shaking off all that, I place my order with the neighborhood grocer. Once it’s confirmed, my phone chimes with a message from the store saying the estimated delivery time is an hour from now.
Even though I’m starving, I can wait. I’ve got things I could do. Like placing things back onto my shelves. When Gus was here putting together furniture, he also moved the bookshelves to the other side of my living room. The loveseat has to go, so it’s now sitting by my front door waiting on my new downstairs neighbor. She has no furniture at all, so I offered her the loveseat, and she literally jumped up and down. While I’m sad to let a piece of Mom go, I’m happy it’s going to someone who’ll appreciate it. Besides, I’ve still got the couch and rocker.
With the loveseat moved, we discovered both of my tall bookcases fit on the walls on either side of my living room window. They’re perfect there. Gus also secured the shelves to the wall with brackets, saying, “That’ll make it safer with the baby.”
My goodness. He’s such a good guy.I’m so frigging happy for my friend.
15
Nate
“What in thehell does she think she’s doing now?” I’m staring out the window of my car at Maggy on the front stoop of her apartment building as she attempts to carry… I squint to count one-two-three-four-five-six-seven… seven goddamn grocery bags.
Pushing open the door to my Lexus coupe, I step out, slam the door shut, and start to jog to her building. When I’m about ten feet away, I say loudly, “What the hell are you doing, woman?”
I guess I startle her, because she jumps, squeaks, and drops one of the bags. When she recognizes me, her fright turns instantly into anger. “You jerk. That bag had eggs in it.”
Now I’m making my way up the steps. “I’ll get you more eggs.”
“No. You won’t.” She bends again to begin the process of picking up the grocery bags.
“You shouldn’t be carrying heavy bags like that.”
“Oh, yeah?” She’s upright again; this time her hands are on her hips. Hips clad in some very colorful pant-things. Leaning closer, I make out a reindeer and candy cane pattern. Interesting. “What are you doing here?” Then she mutters. “Stalker,” loud enough I don’t miss it.
“I’m not stalking you.” WhatamI doing? “I was concerned about you. Gus said you were home now.”
“You were at the hospital. You know I’m fine.”
No. Not really. I left before the doctor returned with her opinion. “I left before….”
“I’m fine. The baby is fine.” She frowns. “Not that you care about the baby. Or me.”
Ignoring her words, I reach for the bags. “At least let me carry these for you.” Because I know enough about this after my internet research that she shouldn’t be carrying shit.
“Fine.” She reaches down for the bag with the eggs. Peering inside, she says, “They aren’t all broken, thank goodness.”
Grabbing the six other bags, three in each hand, I take the remaining steps up to the top and wait for her to lead the way. Holding the door for me, she points at the steps. “I’m on three.”
Okay. Not only was she going to attempt to carry seven grocery bags, but she was going to carry them up three floors? The thought makes me growl. “Three flights. Seven bags.” I growl again. “Stupid woman.”
“I heard that.”
“Good.” I feel like I need to say more because she obviously didn’t get the memo. “I read up on spotting at this stage in your pregnancy.”
She stops. Then turns. “Why would you do that?”
I shake my head at her question. It doesn’t matter why I did it. “It says you need bed restor more naps, more time off your feet, you need to stay hydrated, limit your physical activity, put your feet up whenever you can, and…” I look her right in her clear, blue eyes for emphasis. Damn, she’s got beautiful eyes. “No lifting items over ten pounds. I lift my right arm. “This side has got to be close to twenty pounds.” Then I lift my left. “Same here.” I arch my brow. “You were going to attempt over forty pounds up three flights of stairs. That was a dumb move.”
“Right.” She nods. “Got it.” She turns and stomps the rest of the way up muttering things like, “Bossy asshole” and “Know-it-all.”
Listening to her makes me smile.
On her floor, I step aside as she unlocks the door on the right of the staircase. She enters first, and I follow. I don’t know what I expected from her place, but this wasn’t it.
