To say the past few months have been rough is an understatement.

“Oh, the morning sickness will subside when you reach the second semester!” they said.

“You’ll have more energy and feel great!” they said.

I want to find whoever “they” are and hex them to a lifetime of morning sickness where they can only dry heave glitter. Because let’s be honest, glitter is awesome.

And a bitch to clean up.

The toilet and I have become close friends. Jeff has been pretty great about it all. He holds my hair back just like Tara used to do after a long night of binge drinking back in college. All in all, he’s a champ considering his track record with anything remotely squeamish and medical. But if he offers me ginger ale and saltines one more time, I may lose my shit. I make sure to remind him that this is all his fault on a regular basis. Because when you really think about it, it is.

I’m no Virgin Mary incarnate!

Being pregnant is just … weird. Like weird in that way that French kissing is simply tasting someone else’s mouth. Or how a balloon is simply a plastic bag of hot air. There’s really no other way to describe it. Half the time I can’t tell if I’m having gas or premature contractions. The instant I walk out of the bathroom, I have to pee again. That pregnant glow my mom keeps complimenting me on? It’s just sweat. Which means I’m “glowing” all the damn time. And my sex drive is a sling shot. I’m either revved and ready to go with a single hungry glance, or repulsed and closed up tighter than Fort Knox. Even so, I recently find myself wanting to punch Jeff in the face every time I look at him in spite of my inexplicable raging horniness.

Feeling the baby kick for the very first time wasn’t this amazing, miraculous moment. It was really fucking freaky. It’s like this kid already hates me since it’s beating me up from the inside out. And just last week I had a nightmare that my labor and delivery mirrored the scene in Spaceballs where the tap dancing alien burst through John Hurt’s stomach to a rousing rendition of Howard and Emerson’s Hello! Ma Baby. I woke up traumatized with my pillowcase drenched in sweat. I mean drenched in pregnant glow.

Aside from this constantly growing list of amazing moments on the road to motherhood, things have been relatively normal. It’s summer break, and I haven’t even thought about updating lesson plans for the upcoming year. Nor do I plan on thinking about them until a week or so before school resumes next month.

Nobody warns you about the horrors of being pregnant in the summer. It is akin to being a fiery furnace lounging on the surface of the sun. Whenever I set the thermostat to a temperature I’m finally comfortable with, Jeff is wearing wool sweaters and thick socks. And don’t get me started on the sweat. There’s back sweat, boob sweat, ass sweat, belly sweat, baby sweat, south of the border sweat, and the meat sweat which come regardless of if I’ve eaten meat or not. Naturally, a cool shower has become my second home.

Which is where I find myself now on this ninety-two-degree day. Actually, night because it’s pushing seven o’clock and I’m quite enjoying the feeling of cold water running over my body.

I’ve finally rinsed the shaving cream out of my long auburn hair because pregnancy brain strikes again and I’m incapable of putting a coherent thought together when I’m this cranky, swollen, and sticky. It’s not the first time I’ve tried to wash my hair with something other than shampoo — and I doubt it’ll be my last.

“Babe!” I call out from the bathroom as I turn the water off, prepared to venture back out into the heat. I hear Jeff come stampeding down the tiny hall and watch as his disembodied head pops through the crack in the door.

“Yeah, hon? Need me to help you shave your legs again?” He gives me a hopeful smile.

I feel my face turn red and try to push that memory out of my mind. I still have scars from all the skin he accidentally chipped off my legs. It was the thought that counts. Even in his faults, he’s sickeningly perfect for me.

“No, not this time. I was wondering if you could pass me that towel.” I point to the backside of the door where a fluffy blue towel is hanging on a hook. The bathroom is long and narrow, making everything virtually out of reach. Whoever designed this apartment was left with a random strip of space and decided it’d be a good bathroom. And if you were the size of a twig, it would serve its purpose well.

“Oh … sure.” Jeff sounds disappointed but hands the towel to me. I cautiously step out of the shower and prop one leg up on the ledge of the tub to dry it off. And that’s when I see it. Or rather don’t see it.

Oh my God.

Traitor tears prick the edges of my eyes, and I suddenly feel short of breath.

Jeff sees the panic and is instantly at my side, worry crinkling the corners of his mouth and eyes. “Henley?” He says my name delicately, like he’s afraid to tip the scales and watch his fiancée come crumbling down.

“Oh my God! It’s gone … it’s gone!!” I gasp as the floodgates open, and I start to sob freely.

“What’s gone? Your engagement ring?” Jeff storms through the bathroom, flipping over everything on the counter and searching for my ring.

“No! Not my ring!” I suck in air and snot in a high-pitched wheeze. “My ankle! My ankles have disappeared!!”

Jeff stops in his tracks and whips his head at me in an alarmingly fast snap. When he sees my engagement ring still on my finger, he howls in high-pitched laughter to the point he can’t even breathe.

“It’s not funny.” I scowl and wipe the tears from my eyes. He covers his face and tries to contain his laughter. “I have some really adorable sandals that strap up the ankles that I’ll never be able to wear because I have no ankle! I have a swollen, horrible, ugly cankle. I’ll be lucky if I can get my big ole feet through the straps of a basic flip flop!”

He has to sense that if he keeps laughing at me, I may inflict bodily harm upon him because somehow he’s able to collect himself. He gives me the kind of look that’s mixed with love and heartache and every emotion of I wish I could take this on for you, you crazy batshit woman. And the next thing I know, he’s kneeling on the floor wedged between the bathtub and the toilet, gently massaging the leg and nonexistent ankle I have propped up.

“Shhh …” he whispers as he works his strong hands into my swollen skin as he continues to dry my body off. “Calm down, Henley. It’s sweltering outside. You’re adorable, and you’re perfect, and you’re overreacting, and most importantly, you’re pregnant. This is all par for the course. I promise you, when you’re holding our son in your arms, it will be totally worth it, and all of this pain in the ass nonsense will be a distant memory.”

I focus on his words and controlling the cadence of my breath until the tears cease and he’s managed to dry my body. I’m not sure how much time has passed, but he doesn’t dare leave me alone. He knows I need him more than words can ever say.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He looks up into my eyes with unspoken love. “I’d venture to say you’d be very wet right now … and sad, because you’d be missing out on all my awesomeness.” He smiles and without missing a beat continues, “and probably not pregnant.”

He’s right across the board.

I stand up and tug his arms, attempting to pull him up to his feet. “Come on, you. Let’s get outta here,” I say, and he follows me out of the bathroom.

“Can we address the big purple elephant in the room?” Jeff says as he watches me get dressed.

“What? The fact that your fiancée is a prime candidate for an ankle transplant?”

He smirks, and I’m trying to read his mind as he deliberately looks everywhere in the bedroom but my nearly naked body.

“That was a joke,” I clarify. “Not a very funny one considering you had to talk me off the ledge back there, but a joke nonetheless.” I grin, trying to make light of my ridiculousness, but his face doesn’t falter.

He’s silent for a moment, and my heart skips a beat, suddenly worried about this elephant he speaks of. “Why do we still have two places?” he asks with genuine curiosity laced in his voice.

I know I should have seen this coming, but between life and pretending that virgin pina coladas are just as good as the real thing and doing my best to not completely panic over the fact I’m pushing something the weight of a bowling ball through a tiny key hole in a few short months, it honestly slipped my mind. I’ve spent nearly every night at Jeff’s the past few months, though for whatever reason I’ve never officially moved in.

“I mean, we’re having a baby. We’re getting married at some point. From a resource and financial standpoint, it’s stupid to not be living together, even if your super Catholic parents disagree.”

Jeff makes a good point. I can say, with certainty, that even though we’ve clearly been doing the devil’s dance between the sheets and having a baby together, my mom would no doubt be against us living together before officially tying the knot. At this point, she’d probably disapprove of a shotgun wedding. I’m a little surprised Mom hasn’t pushed me to move back home so they could help with the baby, but then again, she’s probably still convinced I’ve got some stanky vajanky. I may as well load up the car and pack the snacks, because that guilt trip from my mother will take us all over the damn country.

I know, I know. I shouldn’t care what she thinks, or what anyone else thinks for that matter. But still, she’s my mom, and some tiny part of me will always strive for her approval.

I think that’s what kids do.

But he’s right. It’s stupid that we still have two places, and arguably, financially irresponsible. I’m not going anywhere. And as long as I don’t continue to have meltdowns over silly things like non-existent ankles, I don’t think he’s going anywhere either.

“Okay,” I say after slipping an oversized nightshirt over my growing body.

“Okay?”

“Okay.” I nod. “Let’s do it.”

He smiles.

“But I do have one little request.”

Jeff’s eyes narrow and he purses his lips at me in consideration. “What’s that?” he asks cautiously.

“We find a new place together. My apartment is out of the question considering months later it still reeks of plastic on fire. And as much as I love your humble bachelor abode, it’s not exactly conducive to a baby.”

His forehead wrinkles and I think I may have offended him. “What do you mean? There’s plenty of space here!”

Seriously? If I stretch my arms out in his kitchen, I can touch both walls simultaneously. I know he loves this place, but it’s just not right for a family of three. So I take the pragmatic approach.

“You’re on the third floor. And there’s no elevator. It’s bad enough making that trek while pregnant. But you try that a few times a day with a stroller and a twelve-pound baby.”

He stands in front of me and tries to wrap his arms around my body. It’s becoming tougher by the day. A smile plays at the edges of his mouth, and he licks his lips slowly like they do in the movies.

“If that’s all it takes to get the future Mrs. Carrington to live with me, then I will pack up both of our apartments right now and move you into the castle of your dreams.”

Jeff tilts his face and closes in, kissing me softly at first. But rapidly it grows into a deep, hungry kiss that I feel all the way in my toes. Every ounce of absurdity and pregnancy frustration melts away, just like my panties that I wiggle down past my hips and thighs.

Before I know it, we’re making out like two horny teenagers playing seven minutes in heaven. Except this heaven is our reality. And the only way this reality could possibly get any better was if this baby would quit kicking and interrupting the moment.

Little cock blocker.

The highlight of the second trimester was definitely Jeff and I moving in together, finally settling on a rental home we found in the Waldo neighborhood of Kansas City. Our modest three-bedroom is a brownstone walk-up full of charm, and maybe a little asbestos, but the landlord is taking care of that. I love the wood-burning fireplace, though, given my track record, Jeff says I’m not allowed near it with anything remotely flammable.

The nursery is coming along beautifully. We agreed not to find out the sex of the baby since it’s one of the last great surprises you can get in life, so we’ve stocked up on yellow and green clothes that look like they belong on a Cabbage Patch doll, and found an adorable woodland creature theme for his or her bedroom.

We don’t have any furniture yet, but at least this kid won’t be naked. Hopefully, we nail down the necessities at the baby shower next month. Until then, I’ve commandeered a chair from the kitchen table so I have somewhere to sit while Jeff works to prep the nursery.

“So, babe, I’ve been meaning to ask, how does it feel to have a penis growing inside of you?” Jeff asks as he hangs a tiny onesie with an x marked over a baby bottle that says ‘I drink straight from the tap’ on a baby blue hanger, and places it in the closet.

I scoff in disgusted horror. “You do realize that you have a fifty percent chance of being wrong, don’t you?”

He winks at me playfully.

“And that is the most repulsive and disturbing thing you’ve said in a long time. I have a penis inside of me? Seriously? That’s as bad as Tara trying to convince me that the few times she and her husband tried to have sex while she was pregnant constituted an orgy since she was expecting triplets.”

“Okay, now that’s just wrong. And incestual. I love your friend, but I don’t need that particular visual seared in my mind the next time we’re all hanging out together.”

I chuckle, and Jeff comes inside the nursery to take a seat on the ottoman in front of me. His face turns serious, and I instantly know where this conversation is headed before he even says a word. We just had this conversation last week.

“Please don’t.”

“Don’t what?” He feigns innocence.

“Don’t ask me again right now. I beg you.”

He places his hands on my legs, gently brushing his thumbs against my knees and sighs audibly. “Hen, our families are asking. We should really give them some kind of details of where our heads are at with this wedding.”

I shift uncomfortably in the wooden chair. Every time Jeff suggests making plans for our wedding, I have to remind him to come back down to earth. There is no way I am planning a wedding until after this baby has been evicted from my body.

“I know, it’s just that I think we should wait to get married. Nobody wants to see a bride waddle down the aisle only to have her go into labor at the altar. If we have a shotgun wedding before this kid debuts, then everyone is going to think I’m a floozy.”

“Henley, you’re already pregnant. If that makes you a floozy, then you’re my floozy. Besides, they’re not going to think that. This is the twenty-first century. And I’ve never been one to be conventional. We are anything but conventional, remember?”

His beautiful baby blues plead with me to give him something. Anything to get his mother to stop nagging. “Okay. Let’s try this. Big or small? If we can give my folks some kind of inkling of what to expect, that ought to buy us another week or two.”

I wrap my arms around my belly and slowly rub tiny circles, trying to figure out how to best answer the question. “I know my parents want to throw a big wedding for me, but really I just want a small celebration. If I had my way, we’d elope. It’d be just the two of us.”

He raises a knowing eyebrow at me and then looks to my baby bump.

“Okay … the three of us.” I smile, gently patting my stomach. It’s kind of surreal that this is my life now.

“So you wouldn’t want your family there at all?”

“It’s not that I don’t want them there. It’d be nice to have them there, for sure. It’s just that everything I need is right here in front of me. And my mom tends to overdo things. Heck, she even threw a party when I first got my period. Congratulations on bleeding without dying every month for the next forty years! Have a cookie cake!” I laugh then lean over to press my lips against his. Jeff wraps his hand around the back of my neck, deepening the kiss and tangling his fingers in my hair. When he pulls back, there’s a look in his eye that can only be described as complete and total adoration.

“I love you, woman.”

“I know. What’s not to love? I am pretty awesome.”

“That you are.”