Window Net – A woven mesh that hangs across the driver’s side window to prevent the driver’s head and arms from being exposed during an accident.
Living with Jameson was difficult.
The only person I’d ever lived with was Charlie, and those two couldn’t have been more different. Jameson was constantly leaving his clothes everywhere, shoes in the oddest places, and I didn’t think he understood where the garbage was or that we had one. I even went as far as making a sign that said, “Hello, I’m the garbage can.”
Didn’t work. He still set his empty beer bottles on the counter and trash on the counters. I didn’t understand. Even Lane put shit in the garbage, but my husband at twenty-three, couldn’t.
Honestly though, Mr. Jangles kept his litter box tidier than Jameson did our kitchen.
Since we had just gotten married, I decided to wait at least a few weeks before I brought this up to him. We were still in the honeymoon stages. There was no sense in ruining that.
I’d always wanted to have a huge family dinner. Now clearly, I wasn’t rational when I had the idea that this would all go smoothly. I must have been high as shit.
What happened that evening was hard to describe.
After we arrived home from the small honeymoon and the championship awards banquet, Jameson assured me the real honeymoon would come after the baby was born, and we could really have some fun. The naughty wizard (my nickname for myself) envisioned broken furniture and clothes hanging from ceiling fans—the good ole Pit Lizard days before I looked like a whale.
At eight months pregnant, I thought I would never see my feet again let alone a pair of single digit jeans.
Once at our home on Summit Lake, I decided I wanted everyone together for Christmas. I also decided to have this whole Christmas dinner disaster without Jameson’s knowledge. Nancy offered to help, as did Alley. So I thought no problem, right?
Wrong again.
It started when I convinced Jameson we needed to drive to Olympia the day before Christmas Eve and go to Bed Bath and Beyond so I could get dishes to cook with. That was one necessity our home was not stocked with. We were currently eating off paper plates with plastic forks.
His response, “I don’t think so. I have no desire to go to a Bed or Bath... or whatever else they sell. What the hell does the Beyond part stand for?”
Ignoring him, I continued. “I need dishes,” I told him, sitting next to him on the couch as he flipped through the channels. “This house has nothing in it.”
“That’s not true.” He took another drink of his beer, nodding his head toward the kitchen. “There are paper plates in there.”
“I need dishes for Christmas dinner.”
His head slowly turned toward me. His facial expression was hard to read, but it was something similar to the time I told Charlie to take a flying fuck when I was thirteen because he wouldn’t let me pierce my nipples.
“Why?” he finally asked with a sour edge.
“EveryoneiscomingoverforChristmasdinner,” I blurted out as fast as I could and began to run away but was quickly stopped by a death grip on my wrist.
“Come again, Sway?” His eyes narrowed. “For a second there I thought you said everyone is coming over for Christmas dinner.”
I swallowed. It was as though I was trying to swallow over a boulder in my throat.
“I did.”
He was silent. No words, nothing; he just stared at me, his expression tense, fixated, and quite frankly, it frightened me. I was also almost certain he wasn’t breathing.
I felt the need to explain, and when that didn’t work I did what any normal knocked up woman would do. I cried.
“Shhh... shhh... it’s okay, honey,” he soothed, rubbing my arm and then swiftly pulled me against his chest when it became apparent that the tears wouldn’t end without some sort of physical assistance. “I just... don’t like my family that much. What would make you think I would want them all at our house at the same time?”
I cried some more. “I just want everyone together before they aren’t anymore,” I wailed like a child.
That did him in. He knew I meant Charlie and agreed to my plan—with a stipulation.
“If those fucking twins spill anything…” He eyed me carefully. “I’m shutting the entire operation down.”
AFTER MY BREAK down, we made our way to town for materials and maybe even some drugs for my husband. I wasn’t sure there was any other way to control him if we had both our families together.
“What the fuck is that?”
“It’s a... actually... I have no clue. Let’s go find the plates.” I began walking away from the kitchen gadgets and over to the dishes.
Jameson threw his arm around my shoulder.
“Yes. Let’s find these dishes you speak of and get the hell out of here. I hate shopping.”
We were shopping like a normal husband and wife, and it was nice. Aside from his attitude and the occasional second glance at Jameson, most everyone was leaving us alone.
Seeing as he’d just won the series championship in his rookie season, there was no shortage of recognition anywhere we went.
“Plates... yes.” Jameson smiled. “Hey, look... beds. How clever with the name and all.”
“Get off that, it’s for show only.” I started to look around the store to see who was watching.
“No, they’re not. Why else would they put them out here but for testing?” His eyebrows waggled.
“I don’t think so sport, get up.” He only sprawled out further. “They’re for show only.”
“Come over here.” His voice was dripping with sex—sex that I desperately wanted. These last few days I had turned him down just because I was so uncomfortable.
“No, I’m not getting into trouble.”
Even though the thought of a quick qualifying lap on that bed, in public, was incredibly enticing, I did not want to go to jail and become someone’s bitch. First of all, I didn’t need any more tattoos and second, I wouldn’t look good with a buzz cut.
“Wife... I think given the terms in which we are here... you should be nicer to me,” he hedged, reaching for me.
“Husband.” I yanked him up by his shirt. “We’re here for dishes.”
We didn’t get up and eventually started making out on the show bed.
“Excuse me,” a timid voice whispered beside us. “I’m going to have to ask you to get off the bed. It’s for display only.”
I looked over my shoulder to see a tiny red-haired girl smiling down at us, her innocence radiating in her flushed appearance.
“See... I told you,” I muttered.
Jameson gave the young girl a lopsided grin, trying to earn her forgiveness with his looks. I slapped him on the side of the head.
“Let’s go, champ.”
He groaned but followed.
Eventually we settled on some new dishes and cookware. It came in handy to share a brain at times—it meant that we agreed on almost everything that went into our house. I say almost because Jameson refused to let me paint the baby’s room a soft blue. He seemed to think he needed something a little more manly. We settled on a tan color.
“Now... I need to go to the grocery store.”
“I don’t think so,” he told me, putting the bags in the Expedition. “I hate grocery stores. Too many people,”
“Fine.” I smiled. “I can go by myself.”
“I don’t hate it that much. “
Whew, I’m getting good at this!
Since the incident with Darrin, if Van wasn’t with me, Jameson refused to let me go anywhere by myself, and knowing his feelings toward the accident, I couldn’t blame him.
After the grocery store, we picked up Lane so that Alley and Spencer could finish their Christmas shopping. I also thought this was their plan to get us some parenting experience. I didn’t feel the need to inform them of what happened to Logan’s hamster, Blubber. No one needed to know about that homicide as I was never formally charged with anything.
Lane never stopped talking—I was actually a little worried that he hadn’t taken a breath on the way home.
“I’m hungry,” he announced when we walked into the house, tossing his coat over his shoulder.
What should I feed him?
What does one feed a three-year-old? What do you feed babies?
I really needed to do some research.
I reached for Jameson’s favorite, blueberry Pop Tarts. You can’t go wrong with Pop Tarts, or can you?
“What’s Pop Tart?” Lane asked, appearing by my side.
Jameson lifted him up onto the counter while we both stared at him, confused.
How could a kid not know what a Pop Tart was?
“What’s a—” I was in shock. “You poor child!” I pulled him into a hug. “What kind of world are we living in when parents don’t feed their kids Pop Tarts?” I grabbed his chubby little cheeks and squeezed, his adorable pink lips pushed together. “Please tell me you’ve at least had Eggo waffles?”
I let go so he could speak.
“Duh... Uncle Jay eats those all the time.”
Jameson smiled, ruffling his hair. “They’re fucking delicious, that’s why.”
“Jameson!” I gasped. We really needed to work on this language issue we were having. “You better hope he doesn’t repeat that around Alley,” I whispered to Jameson, handing the toasted Pop Tart to Lane.
“You know ...” Lane began, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I not say if you give me something.”
I still found it adorable when he missed words.
“Wow,” Jameson laughed lightly, his shoulders shaking with the motion. “He learned younger than Spencer and I did.” Reaching around to his back pocket, he pulled a dollar out of his wallet. “Will that work?”
Lane’s eyes gleamed as he took the said dinero from him. “Yep.” He jumped off the counter, Pop Tart in hand.
A few hours later, after we got everything put away, Jameson was keeping Lane busy as I prepared everything for tomorrow’s festivities when I heard our doorbell ring.
I was not prepared for who was at the door.
“Look, Jameson …” I swung the door open both annoyed and concerned, “... our neighbors came over to welcome us to the neighborhood.”
Jameson appeared around the corner with Lane on his back.
“Oh really, who—” He stopped mid step when he saw Dana Sloan, his harmless but peppy stalker fan, standing there with Cooper Young, a guy I slept with in high school. Let’s just say neither one of these people he wanted to see. Ever.
“You have to be shitting me?” Lane reached around Jameson’s shoulder and held his hand out.
“Nope, not shitting you.” I smiled at Dana. “They made cookies. We can eat them later.”
He gave me a look that said no way but nodded.
“How long have you two lived next door?” I asked, trying to mask my discomfort with the entire situation.
“Oh, we just moved in about a month ago,” Dana beamed. “We’re just renting, but we’re hoping to buy it now.” You couldn’t miss the meaning behind that.
“How long do you plan on living here?” Dana asked and then began talking about something else and then back to another subject. She was all over the place. You couldn’t keep up with the speed in which her mouth was moving. “You didn’t answer... how long do you plan to live here?”
“We didn’t say,” Jameson replied. That was all he said.
We stood there in awkward silence before I decided to fill it.
“So, we were just leaving,” I hinted, reaching for my coat.
Jameson had quickly disappeared, but Lane was now counting his money on the kitchen stool.
Goddamn him, he left me alone with these assholes.
“Well, we were just about to head out so...” my voice faded again, hoping they’d take the hint.
We weren’t really going anywhere, but I had to get them to leave somehow.
“Okay... I made you some cookies.” Dana pushed a plate of chocolate chip cookies at me. “I know they’re Jameson’s favorite.”
They weren’t. Everyone who knows Jameson knows that oatmeal raisin is his favorite cookie.
“Mmm... yes... he can’t get enough of those chocolate chip cookies,” I emphasized the chocolate chip cookies part rather loudly for no particular reason at all.
Cooper and Dana both looked at me as if I’d completely lost it, but at least they finally left, after telling me a shit load of times that they loved our house and Merry Christmas. They all but skipped off the porch, hand in hand.
“Weirdo,” I heard Lane say off in the distance.
“Jameson?” I called climbing the stairs.
“Yeah,” his voice sounded muffled and distant.
“Where are you?”
“Who’s with you?”
“It’s just me, asshole. Where are you?”
“In the kitchen.”
I waddled my ass back into the kitchen. It was the only way to walk these days. I wouldn’t say how much weight I’d gained because it was just downright embarrassing, and I was pretty sure even an elephant, that was pregnant for two years, didn’t gain this much weight.
“Are they gone?” he asked, but I still couldn’t see him.
“Where are you?”
The pantry door swung open, and he and Lane barreled out with water guns and soaked the shit out of me.
I was prepared, though. I knew this would eventually happen after he bought those goddamn things the other day. I quickly maneuvered my sea lion ass to the sink and drenched them with the sprayer.
The impromptu water fight ended on account of flooding in our brand new kitchen and left Jameson, Lane and me laughing and soaking wet in almost an inch of water.
As we were mopping up the floor, well Jameson was, I was looking out the back window at the lake where Cooper and Dana were waving to us from their paddle boat.
“We have neighbors, Sway,” he leaned against the cupboards. “Peppy, stalker neighbors.”
“What they doing?” Lane asked, looking out the French doors in the kitchen, his tiny arm stuck inside a bag of Cheetos.
“It appears these assholes are stalking us,” Jameson told him, stealing a couple Cheetos when Lane walked over to him as he sat on the kitchen floor. Lane held out his hand and plopped down on his lap. Jameson in turn handed over another dollar.
“We should get a security system installed.”
“We already have one, but we’re for sure installing security cameras and a barbed wire fence,” Jameson added.
“Barbed wire is tacky.”
He looked up at me from the floor with a contemplative expression. “You’re right... make it an electric fence, more reliable anyway. It might keep Spencer out, too.”
Lane looked up from the cookies he stole off the counter. “I need milk.” A couple pieces of cookie flew out of his mouth onto Jameson’s arm.
Jameson tried to keep his cool, but if you knew him, you knew that nearly anything on his skin repulsed him and chewed up cookies crumbs were no different. He calmly set Lane on the ground next to the saturated pile of wet towels, stomped to the bathroom, and closed the door.
“What’s wid him?” Lane asked, his bright blue eyes curiously looking in the direction Jameson had gone.
“He has issues with stuff on his skin,” I explained, wiping the chocolate from his face with one of the towels off the floor.
Lane seemed to contemplate this for a moment before smiling. “Dat could come in handy.” I could almost hear the “muahahaha” chanting in his head as he walked into the living room, Cheetos and cookies in hand. It was at that moment that I became aware that Lane was exactly like Spencer.
I spent the rest of that evening preparing everything for tomorrow with a giddy high. Since he was diagnosed with metastatic brain cancer, I knew my dad, Charlie, wasn’t going to be around much longer, and I desperately wanted everyone together.
I also knew it was a horrible idea... but what wasn’t a horrible idea for any family to all be in the same house at the same time? We were all completely crazy, but families were window nets, as Jameson called them. They kept you from falling out of the car completely.
ON CHRISTMAS EVE, our entire family arrived around two, and it took me a good hour to get Jameson to even come downstairs. Before he did, I found the need to warn the twins, also known as my half-brothers from hell. They were pretty much the worst children ever, and I frequently referred to them as the Lucifer Twins.
“Listen, you two.” I grabbed their little cheeks in my hands, squeezing. Two sets of chocolate eyes watched me carefully. “Stay away from Jameson today,” I told them. “I’m only looking out for your safety. What the hell are you doing?” Lucas was bouncing up and down like he had to pee. “Stop moving.”
“I need to pee,” he replied, reaching between his legs.
“Then pee.” I sighed. This parenting shit was exhausting. “In the bathroom,” I specified when he grinned.
I spent most of the morning with the women of our families cooking this meal. When everyone was finally eating, I was pleasantly relieved. I enjoyed cooking with the girls as it was a nice change.
I didn’t cook with Jameson any longer. Why?
Because it was easier to do it myself. Just simple tasks like making a sandwich was so in-depth. He would start out by saying, “Where’s the bread?” Then he moved on to, “Where’s the peanut butter? And the jelly? How much peanut butter do you use? How much jelly?” Do you put peanut butter on both sides? Do you cut it in half? Wait, do you toast the bread first?”
See? It was exhausting.
Who knew making a peanut butter sandwich was a ten-step process.
When everyone sat down to eat, I felt like a load had been lifted from my shoulders, or maybe it was that I wasn’t on my feet with my balloon belly sticking out.
Kyle and his girlfriend, Elle, who in not so many words called me fat earlier today, came over. Justin and Tyler showed up with their girlfriends, who seemed nice enough and did not call me fat. They said I was glowing and beautiful, and I wanted to kiss them but didn’t. I enjoyed Justin’s girlfriend, Ami, and enjoyed talking pregnancy with her for a while as she just found out on Thanksgiving she was expecting.
Van came over, which made me happy. I felt like he was part of our family now, and I wanted him to know he was. Since the incident with Darrin last fall, Van wasn’t more than a mile away from us at all times—it was reassuring.
Even though I was a little nervous about tonight, I loved having everyone together. I couldn’t remember the last time our entire family and friends were together under the same roof—aside from the wedding. Any time you put family together, it could be a good evening or a very bad evening where someone got hurt or the cops are called. I wouldn’t rule either out just yet—it was still early.
After collecting more food, I sat back down beside Spencer. On the other side was Jameson with Logan across from me.
“What did you say, Spencer?” Nancy asked, her eyes glancing around the table apprehensively.
I had no idea what they were talking about.
“I told him to suck my dick. I wasn’t helping him,” Spencer replied. “It was a dumb idea from the start. He had no idea what he was talking about.”
Nancy gasped in horror and covered Lane’s ears as he was silently building his mashed potato volcano, his brow creased with determination.
“I didn’t, Mom. I didn’t do it,” Jameson told her in defense, holding his arms in the air as if in capitulation. She looked somewhat relieved. “I told him to fuck off,” he finished.
There was another gasp from Nancy as she once again covered Lane’s ears. He must have heard, though, because he held out his hand to Jameson, who handed over another dollar bill without thinking.
Spencer replied with something else and nudged my shoulder. I couldn’t understand him. There was so much goddamn food in his mouth, so I just shrugged. He popped another deviled egg in his mouth, laughing.
“Well, this is a lovely meal, Sway,” Jimi said with a smirk. “It’s a nice table, too.”
I knew instantly where he was going with that statement as did my overreacting, quick-tempered husband.
Jameson, who had been building his own mashed potato volcano, looked at his dad next to him. “What the fu—” He stopped when he realized Lane was waiting for the slip. “What did you say?”
“Darn it,” Lane laughed.
“I said this is a nice table you guys have.” Jimi’s voice was laced with innuendo.
Jameson glanced over at me with suspicious eyes.
“You... were they... no ...” His eyes flickered back to Jimi who was grinning widely. “You have to be fucking kidding me!” He threw his wallet at Lane and stalked away. “This is fucking bullshit! We’re getting a new table, Sway.”
“What’s he so mad about?” Emma finally realized we were all gaping at Jimi and Nancy, who had long since turned a bright shade of red.
“Way to go, Jimi,” Charlie praised, patting his back.
“What are they talking about?” Lucas asked. He’d been just as clueless as Emma that we had just found out that Jimi and Nancy did the horizontal mambo on our dining room table since we humped on theirs once.
“Jameson’s mad because they did—” Logan began.
In a complete shit move, I kicked Logan under the table to get him to shut up. Yep, I resorted back to schoolyard survival with a six-year-old. When he cried, I felt like a complete asshole... until he cackled and ran into the family room where Jameson had disappeared.
I had my reasoning for kicking Logan; the last thing we needed was for Lane to start asking questions. Lane was still innocent; give him a few years and Spencer would surely destroy that, but I refused to do it myself.
Once dinner was done and we’d moved on from the conversations of Nancy and Jimi on our table, Jameson returned to the kitchen. He’d been holed up in the family room playing video games with Lane and Justin, avoiding everyone else.
“You have some serious making up to do,” he said to me, lifting my chin so he could press a kiss on my lips.
“Yes, yes, making up ...” I placed the last plate in the dishwasher before closing the lid shut. “Lots of making up.”
“That’s right.” He nodded, walking back into the family room where Van was wrestling with the twins.
Van came in a few minutes later, breathless from the exertion. “Thanks so much for dinner, Ms. Sway,” he threw an arm around my shoulder. “You sure can throw down a meal.” His other hand rubbed his belly leisurely. “I may need to move in now.”
“Thanks Van, did you get enough to eat?” Alley and I put the final touches on the dessert buffet we’d created on the center island.
“Yes, definitely ...” His gaze shifted as Alley carried the brownies over. “Wow... look at that.” His eyes widened as he took in the sugar insanity.
Van quickly gathered a few brownies and other treats before making his way into the movie room.
Jameson snuck back into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulled me outside with him.
“Now…” His lips captured mine. “For that making up you have to do...” The cool winter air mixed with his warmth breath, causing me to shiver as I melted into him.
Before Jameson could hold me to the making up, Charlie and Jimi stepped outside onto the patio with us, laughing like Cheech and Chong in Up in Smoke. I was almost positive that was playing in the movie room now.
“What’s wrong with them?” Jameson asked in a very melodramatic way, running his hands through his hair, stepping away from me.
I watched them for a moment and knew something was wrong.
“I have no clue.” Something was bizarre about the way they were acting.
Frustrated, Jameson threw his hands up in the air. “I’m not... there’s….” He seemed to search for his words for a moment. “...something wrong with them. They don’t usually act this way.”
“I think they might be on something,” I deduced after Charlie chuckled once, his pupils dilated to the point you couldn’t see the chocolate of his irises.
“Oh my God,” Jameson balked, examining his dad—who was currently peeing on the side of our house while Charlie laughed hysterically.
“They’re definitely on something,” was my final assessment.
“What though?”
“Jimi, were you out here with Charlie earlier tonight?” I asked him after he put his junk away. I had no desire to see my father-in-law’s camshaft.
“Yep!” Jimi replied with a grin, slinging his arm around Charlie.
At the same exact moment, they both turned to look at one of our palm trees as though it said their name.
“Oh my—”
Jameson groaned. “They’re fucking high, aren’t they?”
“Appears that way,” I answered with a giggle of my own. This was funny to me.
“Hey,” Charlie turned to Jimi. “Do you think there’s any of that dip left?” he asked as Jimi helped him up the steps leading into the kitchen.
Jameson shook his head. “Could this night get any worse? I told you this was a bad idea, Sway.”
“Jameson.”
He turned sharply on his heel. “Don’t Jameson me, and don’t give me that face,” he told me matter-of-factly. “Listen to me next time.”
“Jameson, shut up.” I shook my head slowly, walking over to the patio table to pick up the beer bottles scattered around.
“Don’t tell me to shut up.”
“I just did.”
“Well... don’t.”
“Are we really going to argue about this?” I spun around on my own heel to face him.
“Yes,” he began and then stopped when I looked up at him. “I’m going to get a beer,” he mumbled, retreating.
He was right—this was a bad idea, maybe even a horrible idea. So far this evening, Logan spilled fruit punch on our living room floor, Aiden knocked over an entire carton of milk in the kitchen, Jimi and Nancy had sex, at some point, on our table, Spencer told Jameson to suck his dick, twice, Charlie and Jimi were high and laughing while currently enjoying the desserts, and Lane was making money off everyone and their potty mouths.
When I walked back into the kitchen where Alley, Spencer, and Jameson were standing, I was met with Jimi and Charlie laughing uncontrollably.
“This is too funny.” Alley reached for her camera on the counter. “I have to get some pictures.”
Jameson left the room while Alley took pictures. I had half a mind to lock myself in the bathroom for the rest of the night.
Another hour later, Jameson finally returned with an armful of beer cans that I assumed he, Justin, and Tommy had drunk. He shuffled through the kitchen, placing the beer cans in the recycling can, his shoulders slumped forward and a set scowl on his face, grumbling words no one could understand. The French doors leading out to the patio slammed behind him.
“What’s his problem?” Spencer asked, walking in with Aiden.
“He just doesn’t like you guys.” I shrugged. “That’s all.”
“Did you know Dana is their neighbor?” Emma asked Alley, giggling. Just then, Jameson walked back inside, his cheeks flushed from either the cool air or his annoyance.
“No shit?” Spencer laughed. “That’s awesome.”
“Fuck off,” Jameson told him and walked upstairs.
“Jeez, what the hell is his problem?” Emma balked.
It was only Christmas Eve. Just imagine tomorrow with all of us and presents involved. It may have been too much, but it’d been a while since I laughed this much.
LYING THERE IN bed, I realized that I might have over done the whole “up on my feet” thing these last few days because now, as I laid there, I was feeling it. My back was aching, I was cramping, my legs hurt, and I had to pee badly.
From around twenty weeks pregnant, I’d been on restricted bed rest due to pre-term labor. Being up on my feet wasn’t exactly what was allowed.
“Jameson...” I tried to gently push him off so I could go to the bathroom.
He wasn’t budging.
“Jameson, if you don’t get the hell off me I will piss myself in this bed. And not only is that gross, but you will then be lying in piss, so GET OFF!” I yelled, trying to push him off again.
“Noooo... Mom. It’s not my turn to wear the bunny suit ...”
What did he dream about?
I pushed him again.
“Grrr ...”
Did he just growl at me?
Suddenly, kneeing him in his timing gears was looking tempting as the adorable flailing spaz started kicking me in my bladder. If you didn’t know, timing gears were gears bolted directly to the camshaft. And the camshaft, well, that was my word for a penis.
“JAMESON!” I yelled, feeling the vibrations of my voice. I should feel bad that I just yelled at him, but seriously, he was practically lying on top of me. I was eight months pregnant and had a baby pushing on my bladder. I understood he was tired after the Christmas Eve we had, and we had to be at his parent’s early in the morning, but damn it, I needed to pee!
“Grr... need... sleeeppppeee,” he mumbled as he rolled away.
Once he rolled off, I didn’t have time to laugh at him. I was now starting to dribble pee down my thighs as I got out of bed.
As soon as I stood, I peed all over the carpet.
Shit, that was just embarrassing.
“Damn you, Jameson ...”
If he would have let me out of bed when I needed to go, this wouldn’t have happened.
I also couldn’t understand why pregnancy was so disgusting?
I mean, so far I hadn’t seen anything good about it. People said pregnancy was beautiful, but I thought that was just a crock of shit. My ass was huge. My ankles looked like they belonged to Shamu or one of his distant relatives, and I couldn’t sleep. And I was pretty sure I changed my underwear at least four times a day from the lack of bladder control. And let’s not forget about the lack of sex this last week because I honestly felt too damn fat to be even remotely interested in Jameson’s camshaft anywhere near my crankcase. After all, that camshaft was the reason I had all these problems. I used to be attached to him, but now... I wanted to detach him.
While walking into the bathroom, I was momentarily distracted by the fact that my thighs were rubbing together—something I hadn’t noticed until now and yet another dislike to add to my “growing list.”
Jameson must have woken up to my grumbling, which I thought was internal, but apparently, once again, was not.
“Sway, why did you pee on the floor?” he asked, wiping his eyes to focus on me.
I hadn’t realized what time it was, but I glanced at the clock and saw that it was only four o’clock.
“Because you’re an asshole and wouldn’t get off me,” I snapped and waddled to the bathroom with a towel between my legs. I slammed door behind me, hoping to wake him up.
He chuckled. My husband chuckled at my misery.
Jerk.
When I sat down on the toilet, more pee came out, and more and more. It was an endless flow of fluid. I wondered if I had any bodily fluids left.
When I thought I was done, I started to get up. When I stood, a gush came out, but this time it appeared to be tinted pink.
Confused about this, I reached for the pregnancy book on the back of the toilet and skimmed through the pages. I found what I needed since Emma had tabbed the pages of labor for me.
That’s when I went through the checklist for the signs of labor.
Back ache... check.
Cramps... check.
Discharge... check.
Sudden gush of fluids... double check.
Scared shitless... triple check.
Standing there reading these signs of labor, I realized I was now standing in yet another puddle of water and scared shitless.
This couldn’t be happening.
“Oh, Jameson,” I yelled from the bathroom like I was calling a dog in from outside.
He didn’t answer.
If he thought he was sleeping through this, he was out of his damn mind. This was one shit storm I wasn’t handling alone.
Opening the door to our master bedroom, I tossed the book at his head, not caring at that point if it hurt him or not. Of course, it hit him in the back of the head with a thump.
“Ow... fuck, Sway, why in the hell did you do that?” he asked, rubbing his head and glaring. “That hurt.”
I must have looked rather hideous, because when he looked at me, his mouth dropped open in shock.
There I was, with just a bra on, standing in the doorway to our bathroom in a puddle of water. My hair probably looked like a haystack, and I’m pretty sure my nipples were leaking again. I checked just to make sure... yep, leaking.
Great, now I needed to change my bra, too. I threw my arms up in the air once again, frustrated with my lack of body control.
“Mmm, since you’re up ...” Jameson reached for me, pulling me onto the bed after I put on a new pair of underwear. “You have some serious make-up sex to do.”
“My water broke.”
“I’ll get you a new one,” he said, yanking me down. “Back to the make-up sex.”
“No, I’m serious. My water broke.”
“And I told you I’d get you a new one tomorrow. Get over here.” His expression of lust changed rather suddenly when he felt my lack of body control leaking on him. “Did you pee on me?”
“What are you?” I slapped him across the face. “I told you my water broke!”
“Well, shit...” He took in my appearance again, comprehension flashed when I turned on the light and untangled myself from him. “Are you...?”
“Either that or I’ve expelled my body weight in piss. Get your ass up!” I yelled, walking over to the dresser to find some clothes to wear.
Jameson was rambling incoherently and pacing across our bedroom as he tried to find clothes to wear. It wasn’t long before I was staring at him naked, and the reality of the situation hit me. I was in labor and couldn’t be focusing on a camshaft.
After all, that camshaft was the reason I sprung a leak in the first place.