“Oh thank God,” she replied.

22. Hump, Hump, Hump

“So you really like it?” Carter asks for the hundredth time.

We are finally in bed relaxing after the long day, and I can’t stop staring at my ring.

“I think I like it more than you.”

Carter laughs. “Very funny.”

“Oh, I’m totally serious. I’ve been thinking all this time that you just didn’t want to marry me and here you were carrying a ring around in your pocket. I kind of want to whittle my toothbrush into a shiv and stick it in your eye,” I tell him seriously.

He rolled over onto his side and rested his hand on my stomach.

“I’m sorry. I should have done it the day I bought the ring. I just wanted it to be perfect and then we found out you were pregnant and I know how your mind works. You would have never believed I was doing it for the right reasons if I did it right when we found out,” he says as he gently rubs his palm in a circle on my protruding belly.

“I know, you’re right. My mother said the same thing,” I tell him, placing my hand on top of his and pushing it down towards the bottom of my stomach where I usually feel the teeny tiny kicking of little feet. To me it feels like bubbles popping, and I'm not sure if he would be able to feel it yet but it doesn’t hurt to try.

“Rachel actually said something that made sense?” he asks in surprise.

“Yeah, it shocked me too,” I say, turning my head on the pillow so I can see his face. “I should have just talked to you. Obviously I suck at the whole communication thing. I’m much better at suffering in silence.”

Carter scoots closer and moves his hand out from under mine, sliding it up the front of my body until it rests on my cheek.

“I think we both have a long ways to go in the communication department. We’ll get there though,” he assures me.

“Did I tell you that when all this doubt crept into my mind I told Liz about it and she suggested that I give you a prostate massage?”

“Oh my God, stop. Don’t say any more. Jim actually told me about the night she did that to him and it was horrifying. Please don’t say any more,” he warns.

“I don’t know, you might like it,” I tease.

“Hey, I don’t even let anybody wag their finger in my FACE,” Carter says in a Brooklyn accent.

“Seriously? A Sopranos quote now?”

“Um, yes. There is a Sopranos quote for every occasion. Hence, the reason for its awesomeness. Respect The Sopranos,” Carter tells me seriously.

I roll over onto my side toward him and slide my leg up and over Carter’s hip, running my fingers through his hair.

“I think we should celebrate this momentous occasion by me sticking my penis in you,” he says with a smile.

“You’re lucky you gave me jewelry today or I might have punched you for that.”

Carter pulls me closer and brings his lips to mine. Just like always, his kisses make me forget about everything. The softness of his lips and the smooth glide of his tongue against mine remind me of just how long it has been since we've had sex. With our crazy schedules and my attitude problem, it's been a while and I am more than starved for him. His arms wrap around me and his hands slide down to my ass, cupping it and pulling me in against his hardness. I shift my h*ps against him and let out a groan.

“Wait, hold on. Shit,” he mutters, breaking off the kiss.

I pull my head back and shoot him a questioning look.’

“What? What’s wrong?”

Is his penis broken? Oh dear God please don’t let it be broken. I NEED IT TO LIVE.

“I have to pee. Hold that thought,” he says, pulling out of my arms and scrambling off of the bed.

I roll over onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. A few minutes later I still hadn’t heard the toilet flush.

“Hey, are you okay in there?” I yell.

“SHHHHHHH! NO TALKING!” he yells back.

What the fuck?

“What do you mean no talking? What the hell is going on?”

I hear a few expletives coming from the bathroom, and I raise myself up on my elbows so I can look at the closed bathroom door.

“I can’t pee!” he finally yells back.

“What do you mean you can’t pee?”

Holy shit, it really IS broken. I knew I should have used it more these past few months. Son of a bitch! It broke from non-use.

“Seriously, you need to stop talking. You’re making it worse.”

“What the hell are you talking about? How am I making it worse?” I argue.

The door to the bathroom finally opens and he stands there with his hands on his h*ps and a tent in the front of his boxers.

“Because, your voice turns me on and I can’t get rid of my f**king boner! I would never say this to you under normal circumstances but this is an emergency. So shut the hell up for a minute so I can pee!”

With that he goes back in the bathroom and slams the door closed behind him.

Well, at least it still works.

~

“Oh it was awesome once we got past Carter’s freak out,” I tell Liz the next day on the phone. “He was convinced the baby could see his penis and would either get jealous or have nightmares for the rest of its life about a penis monster trying to eat its face. Then he wanted to try and find a condom because he though his sperm might drown the baby. I actually had to bring my laptop into bed and show him that his penis would need to be two feet long for it to get anywhere near the baby.”

Carter is working the day shift today and I'm spending the late afternoon taking down wallpaper in the room that will eventually be the nursery. I’d been at it for a few hours and was exhausted. I had taken a break to call Liz and report to her about how the rest of our evening went. Since she had constantly berated me the last few months about how often we WEREN’T having sex, I felt she deserved an update. After a few minutes we end the call and I decide to take a trip up to the local corner store to get one of my current pregnancy cravings: a black cherry slush. So far I’ve had one every single day since the day I found out. They are delicious and refreshing and the only place that sells the black cherry ones is the place right around the corner from our house.

I pack Gavin in the car and head down the street. Once inside the store, I make a beeline for the slush machine in the back, dragging Gavin along with me. I get to the machine and stopped in my tracks, staring at the sign that's taped to the front.

“Out of order? What do you mean, out of order?” I say out loud.

“It means it don’t work,” Gavin says.

“I know that’s what it means. But it’s a slush machine. It turns water into ice and you add cherry syrup to it. How hard can it be for a machine to do that?”

I see that the machine is still plugged in so I let go of Gavin’s hand, grab onto it, and start jiggling it back and forth.

The power light doesn’t come on so I start pressing all of the buttons over and over. When that doesn’t work, I start smacking the side of the machine with the palm of my hand.

“Mom, you’re gonna break it,” Gavin warns.

“Stupid piece of shit machine. All you have to do is make ice you worthless pile of horse shit!” I say to it, completely ignoring Gavin.

Oh my God I need this slush. I need it like I need air to breathe. Why the f**k won’t it just work!

At this point I'm pretty sure my brain has left my body. I continue to physically assault the machine, hitting it with my fists and cursing at it like it's a person who can fight back.

“Nothing to say for yourself, asshole? You can’t even TRY to work? You lazy piece of shit. Get off your ass and make me a slush!”

People are starting to stare. I can feel their eyes on me as I rape the slush machine with my hands. I pull cords, I stick my finger in holes, and I remove the entire front cover, exposing all of the inner workings.

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the slush machine,” a man in a corner store uniform tells me.

“Why the hell isn’t your machine working? You need to fix the machine,” I tell him, standing there with the cover of it in my hands like it's a shield.

“I’m sorry but there’s a part that isn’t working. We had to order a new machine and it won’t be in until next week,” he explains, prying the cover out of my hand and setting it aside.

“Next week? NEXT WEEK? What are people supposed to do for slushes if they have to wait a week?” I ask.

“God doesn’t want you to have a slush,” Gavin tells me.

I look down at him questioningly.

“God is king of the world and he says you don’t need a slush. Can I get some ice cream?” he asks.

“God doesn’t know. HE DOESN”T KNOW,” I complain.

I’m pretty sure I’m having an out-of-body experience. I can see myself acting like a complete douchebag, but there is nothing I can do about it. I’m like a junkie that needs a fix. My hands are shaking, my head hurts, and I’m about two seconds away from selling my kid and my shoes for another hit of black cherry slush.

I take Gavin’s hand, walk calmly out of the store, and drive home.

As soon as we get in the house I grab the phone and call Carter. He picks up on the first ring and all I can do is sob hysterically.

“OH MY GOD, CLAIRE?! What’s going on? Is everything okay? Is it the baby? Did Gavin get hurt?” he shouts.

“The slush machine was broken!” I wail.

Dead silence on the other end.

“I’m sorry, what?” he asks.

“Did I stutter? The slush machine was broken. I couldn’t get my slush. I need a f**king slush!” I cry.

“Wait a minute, this is all because of a slush?” he questions.

Oh my God, it’s he doesn’t know anything about me. How can I marry someone who doesn’t understand me?

“I thought something serious happened,” he says irritably.

“Something serious DID happen! Are you even listening to what I’m saying?”

Carter sighs and I try to calm myself by NOT thinking about how much I want a slush. Instead, I think about how I want to stick my fist up Carter’s ass and give him a prostate massage with my fist.

“I’m getting off of work in a few minutes. My parents should be there in about an hour.”

Oh shit. The future in-laws are in town for a visit. Thank God I didn’t get arrested at the corner store. That would have been awkward.

“I’ll bring you a slush on my way home,” he promises.

“Black cherry?”

“Yes, black cherry,” he confirms.

“I love you! See you soon!”

~

Carter’s parents show up right on time. Thankfully I finish my big gulp slush by then and can carry on a normal, non bat shit crazy conversation. Madelyn walks through the door first and tells us all to come in the living room and close our eyes because she has a surprise for us. A few seconds later, Charles says, “Okay, open them!”

Gavin and Carter let out excited yells and I groan.

“A puppy! A puppy! You got me a puppy! I can hug it and squeeze it and ride it like a bike and give it haircuts!” he shouts excitedly as he gets down on the floor.

The puppy, if you can call it that, is almost the same size as Gavin, and it looks like a polar bear.

“Is it even legal to own one of those?” I question. The more I look at the thing, the more I wonder if they really did just bring us an endangered animal that will grow to be nine-hundred pounds. Do you have any idea how big of a shit a nine-hundred pound animal takes?

“This is a pure bread Great Pyrenees,” Madelyn tells me, expecting me to be impressed.

I'm not.

“Wow, this is awesome. Thank you guys so much. You know I’ve always wanted one of these,” Carter tells them.

I look at him in shock. He’s always wanted a horse for a pet? This thing is going to be bigger than our car.

“How exciting. We get to house-train a dog AND a new baby. Can they both be taught to shit outside? Or should we put a diaper on the dog? Pick one, because we’re not doing both,” I whisper to Carter as he pets the dog, and his parents take a seat on the couch.

“Don’t worry. It will be fine,” Carter whispers back as he stands up and lets Gavin run around the room with the dog playfully following behind him.

“The first time he shits in my shoes I’m going to rub your nose in it,” I threaten.

“I have all of the American Kennel Club paperwork for you out in the car as well as the authenticity papers from the breeder,” Madelyn tells us.

Super. Our dog has more class than we do.

“What’s his name?” Carter asks.

“Reginald Phillip III,” Charles answers.

“Oh, that’s getting changed immediately,” I mutter.

“I want to call him Bud,” Gavin states as he runs around us in circles with the dog right on his heels.

“That’s a good name,” Carter tells him.

“I know. I’m naming him after the daddy juice you drink.”

“How about we wait a little bit before deciding on a name,” Carter tells him.

“Reginald Phillip, get down!” Madelyn scolds.

We turn around to see the dog mounted up on Gavin’s back with his paws on his shoulders. Gavin just keeps moving and laughing. It looks like a freaky version of the locomotion dance.

“Ha ha. What’s he doing?! This is fun!” Gavin laughs.

“Oh my God, he’s humping our kid,” I mutter, smacking Carter on the arm so he will do something.