“Good God, I am so freaking uncomfortable right now!” I exclaim as I walk out of the bathroom for the umpteenth time today. I am convinced that the larger my belly grows, my bladder shrinks in direct proportion.

“Would you rather have to sit on an egg for nine months?” Jeff asks as I sit back down on the couch next to him.

Some days I don't think that'd be so bad. Though an elephant would easily be the worst. They’re pregnant for close to two years and birth a baby weighing upwards of two hundred and fifty pounds. I may be in my third trimester, but it feels like I've been knocked up for the better part of a century.

“You know, sitting on an egg sure as hell beats the stretch mark alternative.”

“Nonsense. Your stretch marks are beautiful. And they make you even more beautiful to me. They're evidence that you're carrying life in there, and that's a fucking miracle, so I wouldn't trade them for the world.”

My heart swells, and he nuzzles his nose against mine. It’s so sweet it gives me a toothache. Jeff’s phone vibrates against the coffee table in obnoxious fanfare, and we jump apart, startled by the sound. He takes a look and shrugs at the number.

“I have no idea who that is. It's probably a telemarketer or something.” He hits the reject button and cozies back into the couch with me.

Almost instantly, it lights up again.

Same number.

“Someone’s persistent.” He rejects the call once again.

“Is that your secret wife calling to tell you she’s pregnant and she knows about the affair, but it doesn’t matter because she’s going to leave your ass and take your inheritance, your car, and your razor because every woman knows a men’s razor is superior?”

“What? No! Why would you even say a ridiculous thing like that?”

I shrug. “I blame my overactive imagination ever since you knocked me up.”

“That so?”

“Nah. I actually read about that in a book last year. It fucked me up pretty good. Made me doubt everything about relationships in general.”

“Maybe you should stop reading?” He nudges my shoulder playfully, knowing that wouldn’t happen.

“Yeah well, reading leads to knowledge. Knowledge leads to power. Minute after minute. Hour after hour.”

He pulls back abruptly and looks at me bewildered. “Did you just quote Coolio? Gangster’s Paradise?”

All I can do is smile. For years it was my go to karaoke jam.

“I love you more now than I did fifteen seconds ago.” Jeff softly tugs my chin upward toward him and ever so gently presses his lips against mine. His touch feels so damn good. My mind drifts off to all of the deliciously inappropriate things I want to be doing right now, and just as I make the conscious decision to walk my fingertips up his inner thigh, the damn phone rings again.

We both groan in frustration and glare at his phone. His stupid, interrupting phone. And then I look more closely at the number. “323? Isn’t that a west coast phone area code?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe?”

A moment of recognition strikes. My freshman year college roommate had this area code. “No, it is. That’s Los Angeles.”

“But I don’t know anyone in L.A.”

I wrack my brain trying to think of any potential link between California and us. “Didn’t you say the firm that bought out your company was from L.A.?”

“Hmmm, do you think it’s them calling? What if they want me to come back? What if they want to extend an offer?”

“I don’t know…” I go wide eyed. I know he’s been struggling to find work again. “But there's only one way to fix out. Answer it.” I crack my knuckles anxiously. This could be the answer we’ve been looking for. I know the job search hasn’t been easy for him, but if it’s his former company, I know he’d go back in a heartbeat.

Jeff answers the phone with a solemn look plastered on his face. He’s gone into business mode. “Hello? … Yes, this is Jeff.” He shoots me a peculiar look and excuses himself to the next room over. I lean toward the hallway to try and hear part of the one-sided conversation. “Yes, that’s me. … Um, I suppose it was a few weeks ago. … Wow, really? … Yeah, sure. I’d have to talk with Henley, but I don’t see why not … Yes, that’s her name … in October … Yes, I do have one.”

And then he must have walked toward the back of the house because all I can make out are a series of “Mhmms” and “Yeses.” A few minutes later, he re-emerges with a coy smile playing at his lips but says nothing.

“Well? You got a job offer?” I cringe at the fact that my voice is a little too hopeful.

“No, not exactly.” He knits his brows together. “That was actually The Late Night Buzz. You know, the TV show hosted by that up and coming comedian, Bryan Albertson? He's the guy who plays pranks on unsuspecting shoppers on Rodeo Drive. And that little video you took made its way to one of the producers and …” His voice trails off, and he laughs, seemingly in disbelief. “They want to do an interview with us on the show.”

Oh fuck. “For real?”

He smiles, more amused by the entire situation than I am. I'd much prefer to pack up, change our names, and move to a foreign country. Or maybe dye my hair (after the baby arrives, of course) and find a way to get in on the witness protection program. I've always felt I looked more like a Maggie than a Henley. But this video has already taken a few trips around the sun, and there's no escaping it now.

“For real. They want to talk with us over Skype.”

Us?

My stomach twists in anticipation. “When?”

“Tomorrow. The show is live, but our segment would be pre-recorded. She said it’ll take less than a half hour. They’ll record the conversation and edit before it goes on the air. Oh, and she also asked if we could send the original video file from your phone to them by the morning.”

Jeff hands me a slip of paper with an email address on it and sits back down next to me on the couch as I process everything. I’m not sure if this is a blessing or a curse. I’m not one for attention, especially when it's coming from strangers, let alone on the national scale. We will, no doubt, be the epicenter of countless jokes and internet memes.

“You know they’re going to show the clip, right? Thousands—no millions—of people will see you trying to milk yourself on national television! Do you really think this is a smart idea considering you’re looking for a job right now?”

He turns toward me and takes my hands in his. “Babe, millions of people have already seen it. Any damage has likely already been done. And who knows, maybe this will give me the stage to go on and clear the air? Give the video some context?”

“And what context is that exactly?” I cock my brow, challenging him.

“I’m not sure. But I’ve got about twenty-four hours to figure that out.”

Jeff leans over and gives me a quick peck on the lips before heading out of the room. I’m glad that he’s able to take this whole debacle in stride, but I wish I could be just as nonchalant about it. Because if I appear on-air alongside him, I will forever be known as the woman whose husband tried to milk himself.

“You look tired today, babe. Did my little linebacker keep you up all night?” He smiles at me adoringly as he places his palm against my stomach.

Normally when someone says you look tired, it’s code for why the hell do you look like such shit? But I suppose pregnancy and all of the glamorous side effects that come with it actually do make you legitimately tired all of the damn time. The comment should annoy me, but with the sweet way he asks, all is forgiven.

Jeff stretches over my growing belly and gives me a deep, toe-curling kiss before I can respond. His tongue slips past my lips, and I softly moan into his mouth. His touch is so damn inviting and he tastes so damn good. I’m about two point five seconds away from stripping down and making a man out of him.

Ever since I hit the third trimester, it feels like I have two settings: one — hornier than a three-peckered prairie dog all doped up on Viagra; and two — so repulsed I’d rather dig my own eyeballs out with a spork than touch him. There is no middle ground. But fortunately for him and his libido, I’ve recently been wavering more on the former.

I force myself to break the kiss before I get into trouble. There’s only so much time before this Skype call, and if I look as tired as he says, I need to spend a few extra minutes (okay, hours) getting ready.

“Well, I am a little exhausted today. I got up in the middle of the night to pee and get a glass of water. And then I accidentally ate the leftover pizza that was in the fridge. And then I made some brownies because I was stressed about the fact that the one piece of baby furniture we own is the rocker from Tara. This kid will be here before we know it and we don’t even have a crib yet.”

“So that’s what happened to the pizza.”

I nudge his arm and retreat to the bathroom to get ready. Two hours and one empty hot water heater later, I emerge from our bathroom looking and feeling like a brand new woman. It's amazing what a curling iron, a little concealer, and some mascara can do.

Much to our surprise, the whole process actually did take less than twenty minutes.

First, we tested the internet connection with a tiny blonde producer, the same gal Jeff spoke with yesterday. Then she ran us through a list of potential questions we’d be asked during the segment: What possessed you to do something so udderly ridiculous (and yes, she really did say udderly)? Were you under the influence when you discovered the breast pump? What other baby products have you taken for a test drive? If Henley asked, would you willingly hook yourself up to a machine that made you experience the pain of contractions? And, of course, what did I make of my fiance’s new found internet fame?

I was secretly thankful that there was only one planned question for me. I was nervous enough as it was, I didn't need more questions circling my head. But even if we managed to goof up when we were recording, she assured us they would handle it all in editing.

She made Jeff change out of his striped shirt into a solid cobalt pullover because, and I quote, “Stripes will make everyone’s TV screens vibrate. Blue is calming and attractive. People will be more likely to relate with you if you’re in blue.” Apparently, my blush pink blouse would be just fine. I’m still not sure what she meant by the television vibrating, but whatever.

Before it was officially time for the interview, Jeff massaged my neck and shoulders. It all did little to ease the nerves brewing in my stomach. At least I thought they were nerves. At this rate, it could have been gas from the Mexican I had at lunch. You don't realize just how awkward it is to sit in front of your laptop, fake smiling like a jackass, waiting for a Skype interview to begin. For all I know, they're recording me right now for some weird blooper reel.

I shouldn't be nervous, but I am.

Bryan Albertson’s face fills the screen, and he's just as handsome on my computer as he is on my TV with his perfectly coiffed hair and million dollar smile. Someone should really hire him for a toothpaste commercial.

“Hey guys, thanks for jumping on with me on such short notice. We’ll get going here in just a moment,” he says, making small talk.

I just sit there staring like a jackass, permagrin etched to my face. Bryan Albertson is in my living room. Kind of. Would it be wildly inappropriate if I whip out my cell phone and take a selfie with his face on the screen?

Bryan looks off camera, smiling and nodding to someone we can’t see, so I do what any self-respecting woman with a Hollywood crush would do. I turn so my back is to the computer screen, extend my arm and quickly take a series of selfies with Bryan in the background, complete with bright eyes and a pouty smile.

“Uh, did you get what you were looking for?” a voice from the computer asks.

“Oh! Sorry, I just …” I trail off without any legitimate excuse.

“It’s okay. You got my good side,” Bryan jokes.

A few moments later, Jeff returns to the table and sits down next to me, kissing me quickly on the temple. “You ready?” he whispers into my hair.

“About as ready as I’ll ever be,” I say with an unconvincing sigh. I’m still not convinced going on late night TV is the right move, but Jeff was excited and adamant about it.

When we turn our attention back to the computer screen, Bryan Albertson is waiting for us expectantly. He raises his eyebrows at us, and Jeff gives him an awkward wave of his hand.

“This should be pretty laid back. I’ll give a quick intro, and we’ll dive right into the questions. After we end our segment, we’re going to cut to a commercial, but we’ll use your video as the segue. As my producer mentioned, don’t worry if you screw anything up or drop a few f-bombs as we’ll take care of that in editing before it airs tonight. Sound good?”

Jeff and I both nod, starstruck by the entire situation. Is this real life?

“Loosen up, you kids! This is supposed to be fun.” We watch as Bryan stretches his neck to the left and then the right before rolling his shoulders. “Here’s how it’s gonna go. I’ll do a quick intro, ask a few questions, yaddy, yaddy, yadda, and we’ll peace out. Sound good?”

“Yep! Sounds good,” Jeff affirms with a nod, but I’m caught up on the fact that this grown man just said, “Yaddy, yaddy, yadda.”

A few minutes later, we hear the voice of a producer off of the screen, and everything begins. “So we’ve got the latest internet sensation, Jeff Carrington and his fiancée, Henley, here with us on The Late Night Buzz. Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you’ve probably seen the video that everyone has dubbed ‘The Milkman Cometh.’ For those of you who haven’t seen it, Jeff here experiments with some of Henley’s new mom hardware to the point where it sounds like he’s having an orgasm. Be sure to stick around as we’ll be playing it for you at the end of the segment.”

Jeff grimaces, and I snicker politely. I don’t know who started calling him The Milkman, but it’s damn near genius.

“Hi, Jeff, hi, Henley, thanks so much for joining us this evening.”

I have to admit, this guy is good. It’s amazing how he just comes to life when he knows the cameras are filming.

“Thanks so much for having us, Bryan,” Jeff chirps as we wave in unison.

“It takes a special kind of man to attach his bare nipples to what looks—and sounds—like an archaic S&M torture device. No offense, Henley. So tell us, Jeff, where did you get such a bizarre idea?”

Jeff shifts in his chair, and I know it’s the question he’s been anticipating. And one that he likely still has no answer for. “You know? It was one of those things where I can’t even explain where the idea came from. Henley had a baby shower earlier that day and was pulling apart the pieces of the …” Jeff stalls, unsure of what to say, so instead he takes his hands and mimics like he’s cupping a pair of imaginary breasts on his own chest. “pump to get it clean.”

“Jeff, it’s okay. You can say breasts on national TV,” Bryan reassures him. I can’t help but laugh. My fiance’s face turns red, and he nods. “But based on that gesture, I’d venture to say you’re one of those guys who would stay in bed and play with yourself all day if you woke up one morning as a woman.”

“And you wouldn’t?” Jeff banters back and Bryan laughs. My cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling, and I have a feeling that my face is contorting into some awkward, forced half smile that would scare away little kids.

“Fair point. I probably would. But I gotta ask why? What would possess you to hook yourself up to your fiancee’s breast pump? Were you trying to see if you could produce milk?”

I can see the heat rising in Jeff’s face as his cheeks flush crimson. We both knew this question was coming and I’m not sure he knows how he’s going to answer it.

Jeff pauses thoughtfully and looks from the screen to me and then back again. He squeezes my hand out of view.

“No, I wasn’t trying to milk myself or anything weird like that. First and foremost, Henley was having a rough day, and I wanted nothing more than to make her smile and try to get her to laugh.” He nails me with a look of sincerity, and my heart swells inside my chest. I lean over to give him a quick peck on the cheek before he continues.

“But she had just had her baby shower, and our home was taken over by all these baby items. And, with good reason, none of them are really intended for me as a dad. Everything is for Henley and our son.”

“Oh! It’s a boy! Congratulations,” Bryan chimes. I simply shake my head, and Jeff beams proudly.

“Thanks, Bryan. I guess part of me was always a little bit jealous. As a dad-to-be, you feel like you’re standing on the sidelines the entire pregnancy. You’re a part of it, but beyond the initial participation in getting pregnant in the first place, you aren’t a major player. I’m merely playing a supporting role, and I want to be there for Henley in every way imaginable. I guess part of me thinks for me to be able to accomplish this whole heartedly, I need to say that I’ve experienced at least some of what she’s experiencing. And if that means hooking myself up to a breast pump, then so be it!”

I melt.

A school girl crush grin covers my face, and I feel him reach for my hand and give it a squeeze. He’s being totally genuine right now. And I love him even more than I did moments ago.

“I get what you mean. I’m a dad, too. And maybe it’s my morbid curiosity, but I always wanted to know what a contraction felt like. Is this legit pain? Or are you just milking this pregnancy thing for all its worth?” Bryan jokes.

I snort.

“Now, I gotta hand it to you, man, that was a bold move allowing Henley to record the whole thing. Whose idea was that?”

Jeff looks to me, and just as he’s about to place the blame, I intercept the question. “Actually, Bryan, Jeff wanted to prove his manliness to his brothers. So he told me to record it and then promised I could send it to his family. He totally brought it upon himself.”

“So that’s how the video leaked?”

I laugh. “No, my best friend Tara is purely responsible for Jeff’s newfound fame. I made the mistake of showing her the video, and the next thing we know, it’s on the front page of BuzzFeed, Reddit and trending on Facebook.”

“She means former best friend,” Jeff interjects, and I playfully shove his shoulder. It’s a good thing Jeff knows my sisters before misters and chicks before dicks policy.

Bryan snickers and shakes his head imperceptibly. “Well, me and the entire crew here at The Late Night Buzz were so enamored with your antics, we shared your video with our friends over at Baby Bungalow, the nation’s leading baby superstore. They loved your humor so much that they wanted to give you ten thousand dollars to go toward all of your baby needs.”

Bryan steps back further into the frame and flashes an oversized check at his computer screen. Sure enough, our names are on the “to” line, and a one followed by four zeros is written meticulously in the dollar amount.

“Holy turdburglers!” cries Jeff. “Do you know how much porn you could buy with that much money?”

Bryan Albertson laughs. “Actually yes, I do, but I’m not sure they sell adult videos at Baby Bungalow since you’re shopping there because of what happens in those movies.”

I’m stunned speechless as relief washes over me. Ten thousand dollars is a fuck ton of money. We’ll be able to finally buy our nursery furniture and a truckload of diapers and more tiny clothes than we could ever possibly need. Thanks to this, we can actually breathe until Jeff lands a new job.

My hands fly to my mouth, and the hormones take over. I don’t just lose it. I completely meltdown into a stereotypical inconsolable pregnant woman.

Jeff rubs my shoulders. “We can’t even begin to thank you enough,” Jeff speaks.

“Well, it’s truly our pleasure, and congratulations to you both. Now, before we say goodbye, could you do one last thing for me, Jeff?”

Home boy better comply with the man who is giving us ten grand. I squeeze his hand tightly, telepathically telling him to do whatever Bryan asks of him. I don’t care if it involves shaving his eyebrows, he’s doing it.

“Sure! What’s that?”

“Send us out to commercial with your signature milkman moo.”

And without missing a beat, I become the woman whose fiancé moos on national television.