Chapter 194

“Take it easy” Arrick guides me from the car towards our building and towards home. We have been shopping, last minute nesting items as it gets crazy close to my due date and I am so done with being pregnant. I’m like New York’s answer to Free Willy and my feet are like long lost sisters I maybe will see one day again. A woman cuts in front of me aggressively as I reach for the door handle and knocks me over into him as Arrick almost takes her head off.

“Watch the fuck where you’re going.” He snaps at her and I look back at him in surprise at his non-typical response to another human. He’s been tetchy as hell since we got into my last month, antsy, nervous and overkill in protective mode. Today he is having a bad day, because I have been having a bad day and he is trying to not lose his shit with me over it.

Me… I’m suffering every day and absolutely despise this endless growing rounder and waiting. Whoever said pregnancy was beautiful, lied. It’s a nonstop cycle of peeing, starving, aching, peeing, crying, aching, and eating. I can’t sleep because nothing is comfortable and Arrick is against me using him as an acrobatic shaped comforter I can plump to fit around me anymore. So, I am tired all the time and napping in the day is worse.

I want to ram hard objects in everyone’s face who feel they have a right to walk up to me in the street and lay hands on my stomach. Strangers seem to think it’s highly appropriate to touch random pregnant women and I swear I have thought about ‘tasering and macing’ a lot of people in the last seven months. So much so I asked Arrick to buy me some sort of weapon for self-defense and he looked at me like ‘Yeah … Not a chance.’

Arrick too, has to resist the temptation to snap people’s wrists and we are both so fed up with the way complete strangers feel it’s okay to come and say how it’s good luck to caress my bump or want to guess the sex or how far on I am. It’s weird. People are weird and now I understand why Jake turns into a psycho who then bans Emma from coming to the city when she is full bump.

Arrick the normally laid-back people lover has turned into another Carrero Psycho, bristling for a fight with anyone who gets within ten feet of his future offspring. I have become a people hater too and every time someone asks me when I’m due, how far on, what sex it is… I eyeroll so hard my eyes might actually get stuck in the back of my head.

Arrick’s staff on his floor have been told that when I come to go for lunch with him, if they dare mention anything to do with my impending roundness in any way shape or form, he will fire them. Or well, I’ll make him fire them. That is how done with this I am and if I could will myself to push it out already, I would have done it.

One good thing about all of this though. After Amanda inadvertently walked in on Arrick and I having really awkward sex on his desk during one of my horny bouts of ‘I need sex right now’ during a lunchtime visit, she resigned. Well not right away. I guess she didn’t want to make it obvious she was doing it for that reason, but Emma told me the PA grapevine was that she realized her Boss crush was never going to improve and catching him screwing his pregnant wife at work drove it home that he really isn’t going to be single anytime soon.

I may have done a happy dance when he told me she quit and Arrick may have sighed, shook his head and tried to pretend he didn’t see me high fiving myself stupendously. I asked him if he felt bad that she caught us having sex, and his answer was…

“I was more annoyed that she interrupted us, and we had to stop.” Says it all really; he knows which woman he should be keeping happy.

Good riddance to bad smells.

His new PA is like fifty and could play Mrs. Doubtfire. in a remake. It’s kind of weird but she’s worked in Carrero Corp since Moses times apparently and does the job well. Although a part of me and well, maybe because Jake hinted at it, believe Arrick picked a PA that wouldn’t cause him anymore grief.

Good boy.

The ignorant woman doesn’t even look back and Arrick comes around me to open the door and guide me inside while carrying the three thousand bags of stuff I had to buy in the city. We don’t brave actual shopping much as we tend to order online so I went a little overboard when faced with rows of baby things I hadn’t seen before.

Emma calls it nesting… Jake calls it distraction, Arrick calls it impulse buying and killing his credit cards. My mom told him that marriages stay happy when men don’t make a fuss over credit card bills.

I happen to agree.

Personally, I also happen to think we need crystal baby bootee sun catchers hanging over the crib and little matching diaper bags for our diaper genie in pretty pastels, all twenty colors of them.

The vanity that is getting delivered might not actually fit in the baby’s room, but it would possibly work in the hall, or middle of the apartment if it doesn’t. I could disguise it with a plant or maybe add some chairs and tell him it’s a breakfast bar, but I just had to have it. It had unicorn handles.

The apartment is done… Baby room ready, baby proofed home; a lot of our ‘stuff’ has either gone into storage or been donated so we can remove anything ‘Ouchy’ for little tiny crawlers. I had to give up my sewing room for a nursery for the time being but Arrick has plans to move us in a year or two to Jake’s old apartment a few blocks away when I need my space back. It’s a lot bigger than ours and a straight swap makes more sense as he rarely uses it. We didn’t want to start off there though, we want to enjoy our new family in familiar surroundings.

I feel like we have got life together so much in the last few months and despite the fact my school, and career is on hold until … Well, until I decide to even think about it. Then we are doing pretty well.

I’ve read a million baby books this past few months and gone to so many classes in sheer anxiety that I am going to screw this all up. I can’t stop preparing and getting ready and worrying that we haven’t done something important or bought something we need. Arrick has been my constant shadow when he’s at home and now the last three weeks he’s on paternity leave too, never letting me down. He still goes to early morning training and was gone for a fight last week overnight but apart from that, he’s around pretty much all the time.

Every appointment, every weird class I impulsively want to go to, including water sports for natural birthing… Prenatal yoga and how to ease your unborn to sleep with the use of chimes… Pregnancy makes me crazy. Arrick is probably needing therapy after all this, but he’s doing it all with so much patience. Although he might need some crowns with the amount of teeth gritting he does every day.

He is trying not to lose his mind with the depths of crazy I am capable of and sometimes, like today, he’s moody as hell with anyone who gets within ten feet of me. He likes to take his aggression out on anyone that is not me and even Nathan was complaining that sparring partners are a little thin on the ground lately. He’s wiping the floor with them when he shows up to train. All I can do is hope this is over soon and he can reduce his blood pressure and come back to the land where sane Sophie lives.

“Afternoon, Frank.” Arrick nods to him as we pass, and he tries to usher me while holding all the bags in one hand.

“Afternoon… Looking well, Miss. Sophie, not long now. I have it on my calendar.” He beams and points at the wall chart behind him with my due date circled. Frank asked to work both shifts that day and I haven’t the heart to tell him babies don’t run to a schedule and he might not be on desk for the birth. He wants to be here, to be the one to open the door when we get Arrick’s car and be the first to know it’s happening. It’s cute really. Frank is our honorary Grandpa.

“Just can’t wait for it to be over and out.” Arrick smiles and I nod. I am way too over this as well. Sooner it’s out, the sooner I can be normal again and maybe give my husband a god damn break. Also, sex like this is pretty lame. It’s either me on all fours or me on top and maneuvering requires forward planning, crane hire and scaffold erecting. I miss sexy time in weird positions with my handsy boy who can be rough without overthinking he’s hurting our baby. I miss our kinky.

“Here… Your lollipop” Frank holds it out with a huge smile, and I rush to take it, feeling Arry’s disapproving look as I immediately unwrap it. My love of junk food and sweet stuff has exploded beyond control this past two months and it’s a topic we bicker about constantly. He tried to ban any from the house, tried to put me on a healthy eating plan and that lasted all of five seconds before he met hormonal momma Sophie and a craving for Cheeto’s. He barely escaped with his life. He hasn’t intervened much on my food requests since.

We walk into the elevator when it opens, and I don’t see a tiny bump in the floor bar as we walk in the door, given that I lost the ability to see my feet weeks ago and I trip and stumble over something sticking out. Arrick drops everything with the speed of light and catches me, even though I wasn’t exactly falling. A flash of complete despair crossing that handsome face as blood drains from his skin. I stare at him like he’s lost the plot and straighten myself out of his overly tight embrace. Unphased.

“Calm yourself, Superman… I was only tripping.” I eyeroll at his over dramatics and yet secretly love that he’s been a walking guardian through all of this. It’s like having your very own protective layer or bubble wrap anywhere you go.

“Don’t do that to me. My heart can’t take much more and as we near the end, I really feel like I might have some sort of emotional breakdown.” Swear I see him break a sweat on his brow and guess he might be having heart palpitations. I pat him on the arm and smile lovingly.

“There, there… It’s almost over, your pain and suffering of not being the pregnant one is almost done.” I droll sarcastically and get the unamused frown thrown back at me as he gathers up our bags and hauls himself in after me to get the door shut.

I stick the lollipop in my mouth, and it tastes vile, pulling it out to stare at it, screwing up my face like the world is suddenly so wrong.

“For the love of god. Is nothing sacred from this weird ass pregnancy.” I toss it into one of the open bags and get another glare from him, obviously because it will stick to whatever I did chuck it on top of, but I don’t care. It tasted like vomit. My taste buds have been hell this week. Everything tastes like cardboard or metal and I can barely stomach most things I love to eat.

“I need to pee.” I announce randomly as the feeling comes at me from nowhere. My bladder giving me that bursting signal like it suddenly decided it required emptying, like right this second. It’s another wonderful side effect of this impending bulge. This ability to suddenly need to empty a gallon of urine at zero minutes warning.

“Only the four hundredth one today, baby.” he answers, and I narrow eyes at him

“Enough of the sass, Carrero… I can still beat you, even in this state.” I furrow my brows at him and poke a finger in his dimple.

“I’d like to see that, really… You can barely reach me over that expansion.” He rubs his hand over my stomach gently and yet … I burst into tears.

Arry just called me fat.

Arrick rubs his hands down his face and exhales slowly. Losing the will to live, little by little with every passing hour of the last seven months. Blowing out air dramatically before even turning to me.

“Baby… I didn’t mean anything by that. You know I mean…” He sighs again and gives up. It’s like he doesn’t see the point in repeating his rehearsed speech that he has to recite three dozen times a day for making me cry at the slightest thing and stares at the elevator ceiling—probably to remind himself for the zillionth time why murdering your wife is not a good idea.

Tears have become my constant companion and I think even he is immune to them after consoling me every twenty minutes for what feels like a decade.

“I won’t be fat soon, then you can stop making me feel bad about it…” I wail, like a crazy deranged weirdo, shoving him in the side. Broken hearted at my husband’s meanness as he stares blankly and prays for the ground to open up.

“I don’t think you’re fat… You’re just a little round right now so you can fit our baby in there. Everything else is still slim and in proportion. You are not fat. I still find you crazy sexy and really attractive.” He pats me on the back, giving the rehearsed response to my ‘I’m so fat’ meltdowns, and I swear it lacks conviction this time. He sighs with relief when the door pings at our floor and picks up the bags again as I keep glaring at him. Upset, hating him again… I had only gotten over hating him for not letting me put sprinkles on my hot dog at lunch.

I follow him sniffing, as he dumps the bags in the hall and work my way past him straight to the kitchen to console myself for him being an asshole. Opening the refrigerator and scouting for cold pizza, or take out, from last night when he had Nathan and Jason over. I pull out a slice and stick it straight in my mouth with the door still open.

“Nope.” Arrick yanks it out of my mouth before I even get a chance to bite it and gets a glare and slap for doing what fucking annoys me.

“Here, eat this instead.” He hands me an apple and I throw it straight back at him, flying over his shoulder in a flash of fury that meets a complete dead pan expression, yanking my pizza out of his other hand and turn on my heel.

“Don’t come between me and food.” I snap

“You ate a three-course meal before we drove the fifteen minutes home. You need to stop eating shit, Sophie.” He is pissed too, touchy boy because I am making life hell, but I don’t care.

One rule; Don’t. Mess. With. My. Food!

“So, you ARE calling me fat?” I gawp at him, previous upset hitting harder, and he flexes his hands in mid-air makes a ‘Gahhhh’ noise and starts unpacking the endless bags of stuff we bought, onto the kitchen counter. “Screw you.” I toss back at him and storm around looking for my favorite cushion to use on the couch. I’m sure I had it in bed but brought it out here earlier. I can’t get comfy anywhere I sit without it.

He riles me up sometimes and kicking him in the head would be great if I had the ability to lift my foot higher than my ankle. I miss being flexible enough to smother him in his sleep.

“I love her… it’s not long… couple more weeks maybe… I love her, I do. I can do this.” Arrick is mumbling to himself through gritted teeth and a rigid posture as he continues pulling out baby things and ignore him. He gives up when he sees I have bought multiple of one outfit in four colors and drops it all back in the bag. I’ve heard this chant like a million times… He switched out his counting to ten for this forever ago, and I stuff pizza in my face and hate on him from afar.

“Can you bring me a Pepsi when you’re done having your womanly moment.” I ask sweetly, and the glare thrown over his shoulder is not appreciated.

“I’ll make you a smoothie.” He answers tartly, and I know this could go one of two ways… Another all-out fight because he is being suffocating or I can let it go for once and focus on the fact we have less than a month of this to endure. Then I can write my memoirs on ‘The Un-joys of Pregnancy’ and get some normal back.

Some women, like Emma. Thrive and glow through pregnancy and make mere mortals imagine it’s the best thing since sliced bread and will walk around beaming and looking enchanting and ethereal. Like a fairy-tale notion of what it’s like to push out a sprog. And then you get the Sophie and Leila’s of this world.

We hate it, we endure it with grudge, we moan endlessly and make our men suffer as much as we are. Every day is like one long dragging reason to complain. Pregnancy sucks in every way, so we make it suck for them too.

Well why shouldn’t we?

They planted their seed inside of us and shouldn’t get to walk around scot free and oblivious to how bad this shit is. A lesser man would have packed his bags and left me by now.

I’m pretty sure he has probably Googled divorce proceedings in the last few months, multiple times. I sure as hell have when he is pissing me off. I maybe also have Googled how to smother your husband without actually killing him.

“Arrick… I want a foot rub.” I call out, forgetting everything else about being mad or hungry and suddenly really craving a foot rub. I slump on the couch and wriggle like a beached whale as I try to get my legs up too, locating my fluffy cushion and trying to get it under my knees so I can prop them up. Smiling when he appears and lifts my feet up for me, so I can lay flat on the couch instead. He knows my movements are limited and even when we are being assholes to each other, he still comes and helps me.

Love.

“Give me ten minutes… Pick a movie, I’ll make you a smoothie and put some popcorn on.” He at least is letting his mood go too, and the popcorn is his little white flag for being anal about my eating.

Yay for popcorn!

This is what he does… He tries to tell me what to do, we bicker, we get annoyed and then he appeases me. I know he only does it for a quiet life, but I do appreciate it. He backs down a lot faster than he used to anyway, maybe because I am a lot more prone to erratic violence than I used to be.

He doesn’t get all the bad though; today is one of those days. Every night, no matter what day we have had I will curl up in bed with him while he plays with my hair and tell him how much I love him. How much I need him.

I made a deal with myself through all of this that I would make sure no matter what, he knows that I love how he takes care of me. We end our days curled up lovingly and everything is right with the world.

“I’m horny, give me sex.” I sigh as I watch him walk off, all toned tight ass in jeans and like a little flick of a switch, boom. I want him. This side of things is a bit more of a pain than the other cravings, as it can strike at anytime, anywhere and I can’t seem to control myself. it’s probably the only reason he does still love me. I have molested my husband in public bathrooms, our parent’s bathroom, the car, changing rooms, the street and far worse places when the crazy horn hits me. His office several times and even an elevator that almost got us caught

He even repeated the over the desk encounter in his office last week, although it took a little finesse to bend over his desk with a bulge that is practically bigger than me. It was good. We still have that fire and, my boy still knows how to hit a home run and he never fails to deliver.

“No sex… Smoothie, movie, sleep.”

Arrick’s shattered. Sleep is not really something he gets a lot of anymore. I’m restless in the night, never comfortable and using him as a cushion to prop and roll over is not that easy. I change position like fifty times a night, then of course I have to get up for the bathroom with his help, as I can’t get out of bed nowadays without rolling off the side. I also get hungry and well… If he needs to help me up, then he may as well fetch for me. So, every drink, every thirst or craving, he gets up and delivers to me and we both end up wide awake.

Then the weird nights where I want to get up and walk around wake him too, getting me up… And we end up watching movies at four am on the couch and he has slept that way a few times while I watched reruns. His head on my lap as I play with his short hair and stroke that sexy face while he gets a little shut eye. Nose to nose with his little bump. It happens to be my favorite view of them together.

“I want sex. And a foot rub.” I repeat but he ignores me, off to the kitchen, pulling out fruit and ice-cream for my smoothie. He has gotten infuriatingly competent at becoming deaf to me when he doesn’t want to give in to me. it’s annoying as shit.

Yes, ice cream is a must add ingredient if he even wants me to put it near my mouth. The tutti fruity kind.

“Sex, Arry.” I repeat and try to sound a little bit seductive in the hopes my bedroom tone will get him thinking sex too. He’s blanking me which only serves to infuriate me, so I roll off the side, wriggle unceremoniously to stand up, to put my power of persuasion into action. Sometimes he needs a little feel up to get those hormones raging. Tiredness may dampen his libido, but a good grope and he soon gets going. It’s my tried and tested method.

I take a step towards him, eyes on the prize, checking out all those tensed muscles as he puts frozen fruit into the smoothie machine, then gasp in utter shock as an explosion of warm fluid hits my naked legs. Even through underwear, it’s like a water balloon pops stupendously between my knees, making me jump in fright as water sloshes across my legs, hits floor and runs down my ankles in the most disgusting way.

There’s an instant inner relief, like I just dumped out some sort of bloated blockage and look down in complete shock at the water pooling around my feet in a pretty nasty puddle. Hot water, weird smelling water that stirs an unwanted memory of Emma’s kitchen floor.

“What the…” Arrick is beside me in a flash, looking down too and then at me with shock. Hand on my arm as though I might fall over on him. His color fades a little and that swift brow dip immediately straightens out. “Your waters?” He seems stunned, not sure how to react and then we both stare at one another and the mess on the floor for a moment.

“Does this mean?” Fear hits me hard; I’m instantly weak and sick with immediate terror. Realization hitting hard that all those weeks of classes and breathing and prep for a pain worse than death, is about to start for real. I cling to his arm as a sob escapes me. Overcome with a wave of utter dread as my blood runs cold.

“It’s okay… We planned for this; we know what we’re doing. It’s going to be okay, baby. Look at me, Sophs… Look at me.” Arrick is pulling me out of the puddle carefully so I don’t slip, keeping a firm grasp on me and lifting my chin with his fingers, trying to get my attention on him. I’m breathing hard, freaking out and trying to catch my breath but he cups my chin with a full palm and tugs my face towards him. Stilling the ultimate manic panic coursing through me and snapping my attention to him through my fear.

“I’m scared.” I flap at him, tears prickling my eyes. Frozen to the spot.

“We can do this… I got you. I’m here. Cars ready downstairs, bags are in the trunk and ready to go, just breathe and relax and focus on one step at a time. Trust me… It’s my job to always take care of you and I will.” He kisses me softly, stilling the chaotic brain fart I’m in the middle of having. And I let go.

“I don’t think I can do this.” I start to cry softly, the more the reality of what’s happening sinks in and he cradles me soothingly.

“Yes, you can. You’re my little warrior who has come through so much worse and I’m right here beside you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Sagging against him, knowing he won’t let anything go wrong. He will be right there and won’t leave me. I trust him to take the lead. To be my voice if I need it. To hold my hand and make me strong.

Like he always does.