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“You can’t blame me for anything on my birthday.” She laughed. “So, for the record, what are you not blaming me for?”
I opened my eyes and stared up at the wooden ceiling; “I had a plan. Show you the treehouse. Open a bottle of champagne. Make love. Listen to some albums. Dance maybe. Then eat. Eat cake. Lick icing off you. Fuck you mad. Then hold onto you until the morning, and give you your Valentine’s present. But no … someone just had to jump me.”
“Me jump you!” She gasped, turning around to face me.
I nodded. “Yes, jump me. Round one … who was on top?”
Her mouth dropped open, and she tried to move away, to the other side of the hot tub. “Someone couldn’t hold himself back, and suddenly it’s my fault. I see how it is—wait, Valentine’s Day present?”
She sat on my lap and stared me down.
Tiredly, I smirked at her.
“Levi…”
“Shh…” I knew she hated when I did that, but I also hated it when she complained that I was doing so too much. “If anything, you deserved it after the last weeks of pregnancy.”
She groaned, laughing at herself as she put her head on my shoulder. “It’s weird. I barely remember the pain.”
“Oh, I do.” I’d never forget.
PREGNANCY: MONTH 9
LEVI
“I want him out,” she cried, bouncing as she paced back and forth in the bedroom. “Why isn’t he coming out? He was due over a week ago. Make him come out!”
What could I say?
I was so tired, I knew I didn’t have anything intelligent to add to this conversation.
“Please come out … please.” She rubbed her stomach, tears streaming down her face. “I’m not sure I can do this. Levi—”
“Shh.” I got up off the bed, trying to reach out for her, but she smacked my hand away.
“If you can’t get him out, then don’t shh
me!” I sat back down on the edge of the bed. “We’ve had sex. I’ve eaten so much spicy food I could breathe fire. I’ve tried yoga, I hate yoga, and walking and rubbing my boobs! Even damn castor oil! I’ve done my time; why won’t he come out?! I’ve been trapped in bed for the last month. I’ve given up wine, and you know I like wine. I’ve had to pee every ten minutes. I haven’t see my toes in God knows how many weeks. I can’t shave anything; I swear I’ve gotten ingrown hairs. I waddle like a fat duck. I can’t sleep comfortably, because now, if I lay still, he kicks the hell out of me. Come on! Please. Please—ahh!”
When she clenched the side of her stomach, I went over to her.
“Are you—”
“No!” she screamed. “He’s kicking! He’s going to be a handful! He’s kicking me for yelling at him! Oh, you better … be so cute or else I’m returning you.”
I snickered, helping her onto the bed. “I’m not sure that’s how it works.”
She glared at me for a moment before putting her hands on her face. “I’m tired, Levi. I’m so tired.”
“I know.” I kissed the top of her head. “I know, baby, but it’s almost over; he can’t stay in there forever.”
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my phone, yawning, but immediately closed my mouth when she glared at me again.
“Are you tired?” she asked softly … a little too sweetly, and I knew it was a trap so I shook my head.
“Me? No. Hello?” I asked, getting up off the bed.
I glanced down at her as she tried to sweetly talk our son into coming out, and answered my mother. “She’s … hanging in there.”
