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Now I wish I'd sucked it up because God knows what's coming out of me next is going to hurt a fuck ton more than an IUD.
I don't know what I'm going to do. This wasn't the plan. Jackson's going to freak out. No, that's a lie, he's going to remain calm and levelheaded and pragmatic while I freak the fuck out.
We can't have a baby. We already have a baby; the ranch. And for fuck's sake, we're practically still babies.
I've got options. I'm pretty sure it's still early so I've definitely got options.
I just... I don't know.
I don't fucking know.
* * *
I saw your heartbeat today.
Strong like your mom, is what your dad said. He cried, like he does at every single appointment, just like he cried when I told him about you. He went white as a sheet and then he cried and then I cried and he held me and he told me whatever I wanted to do, he would be there for me. I'd already decided by then, and I knew that no matter what he would support me, but hearing it made me cry harder anyways.
He's so fucking proud of you already, little guy.
You kicked for the first time last week and he practically threw a party, and then you threw a fist at my kidney and he claimed you were practicing your pitch. I swear, he's going to be unbearable when you pop out in a few months. Which you need to do gently and on time, by the way, because you're going to be stuck with me for a really long time and starting our life together by pissing me off is not a good idea. Just ask your dad.
We figured it out, how we're going to make it work. I found a part-time program, two nights in person a week, the rest of it online. You'll be here at the start of summer, I can start classes in the fall. And your dad, Jesus, I don't think I've ever seen someone so happy to be a stay-at-home dad, ever.
We love you so much already.
Even when you use my organs as squeeze-toys.
* * *
Okay, I love you, but you need to get the fuck out now.
I'm sick of this. I don't know what the fuck those people who spout on about the beauty of pregnancy and how they never want it to end have been smoking because I am done.
I haven't slept in a month. I pee every two seconds. Jackson won't let me eat sour sweets anymore because they give me heartburn even though everything gives me heartburn lately. And he read some article about how some types of herbal teas are bad for pregnant women and now I can't even have a cup without him giving me this stupid fucking pouty face of disapproval. And god, I'm sore. So sore. I can't remember what it feels like to be comfortable.
So please, little guy. Please get out.
* * *
I'm a mom.
Weird.
If you'd told me a couple of years ago that I would be the first in our friend group to become a mom, I would've laughed until I vomited. My money was on Amelia. All of ours was, really. Clearly, I didn't take that Jackson family competitive nature into account.
Isaac's inherited that shit, I can already tell. Barely six months old and he's already giving his cousin a run for his money. Alex is obsessed with him, almost as much as Jackson. Lux and I have started calling them the triplets because they're practically identical, the three of them.
I might be biased but my kid's the cutest. He looks just like Alex did when he was a baby. Except those big blue eyes, they're all mine. His hair is a little lighter too, not quite blonde but not quite brown. The perfect mix of the two of us. Thank God because I think I actually would've pitched a fit if he came out looking exactly like his dad.
I think I want another one. It's early, I know, but I love this kid so fucking much, and I see how much Jackson loves him and I want more. I love my boys but a girl would be nice. I'm not picky though.
Anyway. One thing at a time. Should probably do something with the rock on my finger first. I'm pretty powerful but planning a wedding with one kid is hard enough. Two kids might kill me.
One day, though.
I’ll bide my time.
