Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
What’s with women and pregnant bellies? Even strangers get that weird look in their eyes when they see me and want to touch. I’ve lost count of how many hands I’ve slapped away in the last month alone. They always seem offended that I didn’t let them grope me in public, as if that’s supposed to matter to me.
They have no idea that the thing’s father is always attached to it as soon as he walks through the door in the evening, and that’s about all I can take. He’s lost his damn mind if you ask me, because I don’t see the fascination.
I get it, women are supposed to be all gaga over bringing new life into the world, but there are already about ten billion idiots walking around out there; where’s the need for more?
Not only that, but it makes me do things against my will, and I’m not down with that. Who the hell ever heard of dipping sour pickles in peanut butter as a meal? And who the hell has ever heard of being tired immediately after waking up in the morning?
He’s zapped all of my energy, making me walk ten times slower than normal, and I can’t fit into any of my clothes. When I complain, the people around me just smile and give me looks like I’ve lost my mind. Only my sister and sister-in-law seem to get it; they’re the ones keeping me sane.
My husband- get that- I is married now, and I have the big ass rock to prove it. But if I could have the rock, the party, and the sex without the annoying man attached to it, that would be better. He’s so damn clingy. He monitors everything. How much I ate, and how much sleep I’m getting. All so he can pull out his little notebook in the doctor’s office to tattle on me.
At least he’s good for foot rubs and massages- oh, and dick- can’t forget the dick. Right now, I can feel his eyes on me as I cross the room. He’s probably dying to say something about my choice of snacks again, but the memory of what happened the last time he did that is probably holding him back. That knot on his head took a few days to go down, and he’d have a hard time explaining another one away.
Other than his annoying self, life has been a breeze. We had a marvelous wedding, planned and orchestrated by our mothers and the bevy of wedding planners they’d hired. They needed more than one because between our two families, there were a thousand people on the invite list.
I’d never heard of such a thing, but it worked out well in the end. One of the agencies worked on the décor, while the other was more focused on food and seating, I guess. I wouldn’t know, since I wasn’t allowed a say in anything other than when and where.
I’ve heard friends mumble in the past about not being involved; now I think they’re nuts. Who the hell wants that hassle? I was fine just showing up and letting loose after the nuptials. The food was good, the party was great, and everyone had a good time on my father’s dime, hooray.
The honeymoon was another matter that I paid very close attention to. Since I love to travel, I was very aware of my partner’s habits to ensure that they matched up with mine, and he didn’t disappoint. I can take him anywhere around the world and be sure to have a good time.
That was the plan, until we came back and I found out there was an alien being taking up space in my gut. I thought the nausea and headache were from the different time zone and climate, but color me stupid, it was a baby. How the hell he got there, I don’t know.
I yelled and threatened, but nothing worked; he stayed put, the little shit. Everyone thinks that I’ve lost it, but what do they know? I’m here to tell you: anything that gives this much trouble out of the gate is bound to be trouble.
Mom claims that I was the same; how could she? I’ve always been the easiest of her kids as far as I can tell, so it has to be Julius’ fault. He probably did this on purpose just to annoy me. I can’t move around the way I used to with this butterball sticking out in front of me, and that keeps me at home most days, just where he wants me.
He freaks if I run to the store without his say-so and lectures me at every turn, which I ignore, because who does he think he is? When he gets too out of hand, I sneak away to my house by the water, but he’s usually sleeping next to me when I awake in the morning. By then I’m over my mad, so it doesn’t really matter, but still.