Time slows to a crawl when you’re nearly nine months pregnant. Every day is a struggle, because you feel like a klutz. A fat klutz at that. Your joints loosen up, your balance shifts, and your feet become a distant memory. With the first baby, you’re excited and scared. With the second, you just want to get the delivery over with. My little passenger must have felt the same, because the baby struggled to get comfortable, turning and twisting and kicking against me as though my skin was a set of covers he could knock to the floor.
“Show time?” asked Detweiler, in a hopeful tone, as he watched the contours of my belly move around.
“I’m not sure.”
“Amazing, awe inspiring, and slightly creepy,” said my husband. Leaning over to kiss my navel. With my sleep shirt pulled up to expose my baby bump, we could watch my passenger’s progress as he moved under my skin.
“You can say that again.”
“You aren’t going in to work, are you? Today’s the day. As soon as you go into labor, I’ll take the next three days off. I hope your doctor is good at math.”
After he left, I pulled on the only pair of maternity pants that fit, threw a top over my head, and tried to make myself comfortable on the couch downstairs. I was sitting in the same place eight hours later when Detweiler and the kids came home, from work and school respectively.
Detweiler kissed me. “Any progress?”
“No. I might as well be watching paint dry. Not even a twinge of a contraction.”
He laughed. “I’m going to get dinner ready in the kitchen. You stay comfortable.”
I dozed off, only to be awakened by a very angry little boy.
“Where is our baby?” Five-year-old Erik stamped his foot on the floor. Those warm chocolate eyes of his were blazing with anger. “Isn’t he coming yet? That baby is supposed to be here. You said he was coming today. I’ve been looking and looking for him.”
I gathered our son into my arms. Although my belly was too big for him to sit on my lap, Erik could prop himself up against me by leaving one foot on the floor and sprawling the other over my leg. “You’ve been looking?”
Erik nodded solemnly. “Anya told me he’d be driving up in a big car. A shiny one. So I was look-et-ing out the windows for a long time. My fingers is cold. See?”
When he pressed his tiny digits into mine, they were like ice.
“Anya?” I called out to my thirteen-year-old daughter. She was lying on the rug on the floor in front of a crackling fire, pretending not to be listening in on our conversation. So I tried again. “Anya? What did you tell Erik? Hmmm?”
With great reluctance, she set down her pen, pushing aside her notebook, and turned to blink at me. My daughter, sweetness and light, feigning innocence. Slowly she opened her mouth and said, “What? I didn’t hear you.”
“Then we need to take you to an audiologist and get your hearing checked, young lady. What did you tell your brother? Did you mislead him? Cause him to stand and stare out the window?”
“She’s a poopy face.” Erik pointed an accusing finger at his sister.
“No name-calling,” I said.
“Anya? I think you owe Erik an apology.”
I tried to keep my voice neutral, because the family therapist had warned us this would be coming. The honeymoon between the siblings was officially over. When Erik first came to live with us, Anya had treated him like an honored guest. Over the past two months, reality had set in. The boy was adorable, but he was also a pesky younger brother. As such, he often bugged his older sister.
“I told him that because he was getting into my things!” she said, raising the emotional water level in the room. “I asked him twice not to draw in my journal, but he did it anyway!”
“Erik? You have to leave Anya’s things alone. You have your own—”
I gasped as a cramp hit me hard. I was seated in a side saddle position with both legs up on the sofa and to the side. Suddenly I felt a release, as though someone had pulled a plug and warm water ran over the top of my right thigh.
“Did you wet your pants?” Anya stood over me, staring at the wet splotch on our sofa.
“No. My water broke. Remember? I told you this would happen. Please go get Detweiler.”
Instead of moving, she stood where she was and screamed at the top of her lungs, “The baby is coming! The baby is coming!”
You can be there for the big event. Go to Amazon today and get your copy of Glue, Baby, Gone to see what happens after Kiki goes into labor.
Glue, Baby, Gone is the 12th book in the Kiki Lowenstein mystery series, published by Spot On Publishing, May 2016.
After the world’s longest pregnancy, Kiki has her baby. But nothing in Kiki’s life goes as planned, does it? You’d think Detweiler would be over-the-moon with happiness, but instead he’s acting like he’s been jabbed with a diaper pin. Anya is sharing inappropriate pictures, Erik is wetting the bed, and someone is trying to steal newborn babies from hospitals in St. Louis. Kiki comes down with a bad case of the new mommy blues, and then one of her worst enemies winds up dead. It’s enough to make Kiki cry like a baby–but help is on the way. Or is it?
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About the author
Joanna Campbell Slan is the national bestselling and award-winning author of the Kiki Lowenstein Mystery Series, praised by Kirkus Reviews as being, “A cut above the typical cozy.” The first book in the series was shortlisted for the Agatha Award. You can get a recipe from this book absolutely free by sending an email to GBGBonus@JoannaSlan.com.
Giveaway: Leave a comment below for your chance to win a kindle copy of Glue, Baby, Gone. The giveaway will end May 27, 2016 at 12 AM EST. Good luck everyone!
All comments are welcomed.