Sleeping With The Boss's Husband (EDITED/REWRITTEN)

29- Our Christmas gift

Brianna:

It's Christmas Eve, and Nick was out doing what men do best. And that's last-minute Christmas shopping. Throughout the day, while wrapping presents and baking cookies, I noticed I was having contractions. I blew what I was feeling off. In the past month, I've had Nick rush me to the hospital about fifteen times, with nothing coming about. The joke was on us. All because our daughter thought she would be funny to act like she wanted to come into the world, but she wasn't. She was testing us.

Damn false labor alerts.

I set the last tray of cookies in the oven, then finished placing the last of the presents under the tree. As I put the last gift under the tree, a sharp shooting pain roamed my lower abdomen. The pain was all too familiar, and it was a feeling as if I was getting my typical menstrual cramps. I looked at the time, then sat on the floor, waiting to see if it happened again. And it did. Four minutes later.

Oh, shit...

I hurried to my phone and called Nick.

"Hello, babe. Did you need me to pick up something?" He answered.

"No. I was calling to see how much longer until you're home."

"I shouldn't be too much longer. Why? What's going on?"

"Well, I've been having contractions all morning, and now the timing of the contractions are four minutes apart."

Nick chuckled. "That little stinker. I'm sure she's teasing us again."

I shook my head. "I don't think so, Nick. These contractions feel much more different from the other times she had us going to the hospital. I think she's ready to come, finally."

"Four minutes apart, you say?"

"Yes. And the contractions are fucking painful. I'm serious, Nick. I think she's ready to come today. Please get your ass home. Unless you would like to deliver her yourself."

I removed the phone from my ear and looked at it after hearing nothing on his end. Call ended, it says. He hung up on me!

I set my phone down on the table, then headed to the bedroom to grab my bag. I didn't even have to pack a bag. Nick had already packed the bag I had in the bedroom when I first went into the hospital. And have been bringing it each time we've gone in. I set it by the door; then I got a whiff of cookies burning. Shit! I rushed to the oven, removed the tray of cookies, and set it on the cookie rack to cool off. The cookies were burnt, but they weren't burnt that badly. I'm sure Nick will eat them with the sweet tooth he has.

While cleaning up my mess, I noticed my contractions were getting closer and closer and realized they're now three minutes apart. I made sure I turned off the oven, then I hurried to the couch and sat, praying Nick would hurry and get his ass home.

Half an hour later, and he's still not home.

And the contractions are now two minutes apart.

He will be delivering this baby. On the side of the road, I'm sure.

I grabbed my phone and called Nick. "Ah, honey? Where the hell are you? The contractions are two minutes apart now!"

"I'm almost there. I swear. Don't let her come out, not until we get to the hospital!"

I hope he's trying to be funny. Because if he is. He's not funny at all.

"Just get here. She's coming today, no matter what."

I hung up with Nick, and within minutes Nick was home, rushing me to the car and nearly forgetting the bag I set next to the door. When he got in the vehicle, he shifted into reverse and pressed hard on the gas pedal, causing our heads to fly backward. "Damn it, Nick! I want to get to the hospital alive."