Arranged Baby

Part 18

Today marks my official two months of being pregnant. Sixty days, technically, but who's counting? Everybody but me apparently. The only reason I remembered was because everyone but me remembered. Heck even Nurse Nana had a wide smile on her face today, brighter than usual and she made it a point to look at my belly.

At least three people had commented on it's size since I've gotten into my car this morning. The first was the receptionist at the visitor's counter, who makes it a point to force a smile every time I look her way, no doubt thanks to Sergio or Taylor's influence, could have been Lana too; she isn't always rainbows and rich sunshine.

My father was next, begging me to come closer so he could rest his hand on the bump. It's small still, you wouldn't be able to tell I'm pregnant unless you looked at me during the summer time, but my waist has grown two whole inches since the last time I've embarrassed myself at the doctor's. Robert of course had tears in his eyes and insisted on having everyone in the room later today for cake and ice-cream. The crowd I wasn't so keen on, but the mention of Cake and Ice cream had my mouth watering.

Taylor was the first to barge into the room with a nervous smile and a balloon for me. He gave me a hug and a forehead kiss (it's more routine for us now, PDA for the show), and shyly handed me a yellow gift bag with pink and blue rubber duckies on it.

He had wordlessly shuffled to my father to greet and cheer with one another until Sergio followed into the room after Lana not even thirty seconds later. They brought the girls, which isn't surprising, considering it's a Saturday. However, I was surprised to see that they had all had something in their hands for me, or rather the baby. Either way, it was more than enough to bring hormonal tears to my eyes.

"Sorry," I sniffle with a laugh, "I'm such a crybaby now-a-days."

Everyone laughs and takes turns rubbing my belly.

We, Taylor and I, had to leave for my doctor appointment. Normally it's every 13 weeks, but Taylor is being a worry wort. He really finds me incapable of common sense while pregnant. Besides, I've already read at least 12 books on Do's & Don't's of pregnancy. I think I've got it down.

"Do you feel movement yet?" Taylor asks, barely containing the odd tone in his voice.

"It's not an elephant," I laugh, "it's too small to detect movement right now."

"You're already two months, you should feel something."

I look down to my belly, place my hand on the spot that resembles a speed bump on the road, and let a tiny smile linger on my face. It would be kind of cool for the baby to move around a bit. Maybe it would kick before I eat something so I would know if it would throw it up. Because let's keep it real, I haven't been able to keep shit down.

"Well I don't," I stuffle, "and I don't want to talk about it."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't," I snap intelligently.

"Stop with the attitude," he snaps back.

I burst in tears, an ugly bawling mess in his front seat while my hands still roam my small belly. This reminds me of yesterday when I was working and had to excuse myself to the bathroom at work because there wasn't enough ink in the printer and the secretary said I couldn't speak to the boss personally to apologize.

Taylor pulls over and I can feel his stare. Gosh he can be so inconsiderate some times.

"What's wrong? What happened?"

"You!" I cry.

"Me?..."

I sniffle and wipe at my face. He hands me a pocket hankie. Where the hell did he pull that out of? His ass? Well if he's so damn great, he can hold a baby and make it do cartwheels in his stomach, and maybe pull the baby out himself since he's so curious about it.