Baby

thirteen

I was 5 weeks pregnant.

The mood swings were making me crazy, making me psychotic. I wasn't the only one being affected though. My man was the one who had to deal with the brunt of my madness. It was clear it was affecting us both, badly.

The latest screaming match started because of my own paranoia. My own crazy assumptions.

"I'm pregnant with your fucking child, and you're out there sleeping with half the city?!"

"I'm not sleeping with anyone except you!"

I scoffed at that. We hadn't slept together in 5 weeks.

"You're a fucking liar! I swear, if I catch you red-handed -"

"Fuck is wrong with you, you crazy bitch?! I told you, I'm not doing anything!"

"Fuck is wrong with me?! Oh, I don't know, maybe this thick-headed baby in my tummy is what's wrong with me! You're about to be a father and you're never even home!"

"I'm busy fucking working. Baby, you of all people, should damn well know how hard I work for this family."

"Hard? Hard?! You contraband shit, illegal shit! That's not hard work! That's not even a job!"

I stood across from my man and watched his jaw clench. I knew I was being harsh, I knew I was being insulting. Despite every disapproval I had, I still knew my man put food on the table every night and kept the roof over our heads. I knew he provided, even if I didn't like how.

"Fuck you, ungrateful bitch."

He took his coat and left, the sound of his boots echoed as he walked away.

I was upset, and stressed out. I knew it wasn't good for the baby, or for me. Lately there had been such turbulence though, I didn't know where it all was coming from.

Jupiter sat silent at my feet, his furry body a reassuring comfort. Maybe things would be okay. Maybe they'd all work themselves out in the end.

This was just a hiccup. A small bump.