First, it was the constant feeling of being under the weather. At first, she thought she just needed to rest after the constant jet-setting. Then the barley wine she always loved seemed to smell like a pile of rotten eggs, making her dash to the nearest bathroom and offer her breakfast to the porcelain throne. Then her jeans suddenly became tighter on the waist and her blouses tighter on the chest.
Finally, the monthly recurring visitor failed to show up on its schedule.
Luckily for her, he and the rest of the band headed for yet another tour of Europe that time, allowing her the opportunity to see a doctor to determine the cause all these things. He then told her the news.
Even after they tied the knot a year ago, the thought of children never even crossed her mind. In fact, with their busy touring schedules, it seemed impossible. Alas, fate had other plans.
When she got home from that appointment, she, without pomp and circumstance, took out every last bottle of liquor and every last pack of cigarette she could find in the house, placed them in one box and wrote "free booze and fags inside" in front and placed it beside their post box.
A month later, she faced her bathroom mirror and took a good look of her profile and ran her hand over her stomach, feeling the beginnings of burgeoning bump. Many women said pregnancy was a blessing, a gift to be cherished forever.
Sounds like utter bullcrap, probably is utter bullcrap.
She walked out of the bathroom and plonked herself on their couch. Her stomach still churned and did somersaults inside, but not enough to make her throw up. She then heard footsteps coming from upstairs. She looked back and saw him with a lighted cigarette on hand. "Put that bloody thing away. It's not good for the baby and you're making me have cravings for things I shouldn't be having."
He dropped the stick on the nearest ashtray and took a seat beside her. "Is there anything I can get for you?"
She took a deep breath in a vain attempt to keep the nausea at bay. "Is there ginger ale and crackers in the kitchen? It's practically the only thing I could keep down right now."
He got up and headed for a kitchen, coming back a minute later with the ginger ale and crackers and set the two items down on the coffee table. She took a sip of the ginger ale and looked at him straight in the eye, her eyes starting to brim with tears, her voice lowered to almost a whisper. "I don't think I could do this, John."
He looked at her with those greenish eyes that always had this power to calm her down. "Do what?"
She nibbled on the cracker in her hand. "This whole pregnancy, giving birth, becoming a mother, kind of thing. I mean, I've never really considered having a child in my life, never became quote, unquote 'maternal', so to speak. This whole thing's just all so strange and fuzzy to me."
He reached one arm out and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Chris, you're shortchanging yourself again. I, for one, think you'll make a terrific mother to our child."
The tears fell out onto her cheeks when he said those words. Her voice cracked as she spoke back. "You think so?"
He gave her a warm cuddle, pecked her on the lips and placed a hand on her stomach. "I love you, Mummy."
She broke out in an even bigger smile and cuddled back. "I love you too, Daddy."
