Curiousity Killed the Cat

I am going to kill him.

That was one of the many things running though my head. Thanks a lot Harry, really. First you sleep with me, then you leave, and now you’ve knocked me up. Great. My life officially sucks.

Well, more than it did five to six minutes ago.

Somehow, I managed to find some sort of sense in my brain and figured that it would be best if I read that book about pregnancy so I wouldn’t, like, somehow murder the baby. I grabbed the book off of the table, after sprinting down the stairs, and flipped to the page and began to read.

Let me tell you: pregnancy sucks.

After reading about a trillion rules and a million things that could happen if you didn’t follow them, I figured I needed to do the most important thing at the moment.

I needed to get some cheese.

And jelly.

On bread.

With whip cream.

After making a quick run to the super-market and buying everything that could be considered gross, I was sitting in the kitchen, shoving a cheese, jelly and whip-cream sandwich in my face.

Disgusting? Yes. Delicious? More than you could have known.

After satisfying my strange craving, I sat down in the chair, finally taking this a bit seriously. I have a child in me, a living thing is now resting inside of me. Hell, I would be a terrible mother! I hate children, actually, children hate me but still. Was I ever ready for a baby? I was only seventeen.

That and, well, the father of this child could quite possibly be dead.

I probably should tell someone, preferably an adult, but how? Maybe I’ll ask them when I’m a bit further along. Okay, screw that. I have a feeling I’ll keep this little… miracle to myself. Miracle? Is it a boy or girl? Is it possible to tell at three months?

Well, the book said no alcohol. Harry already disposed of it all, so that one is done. No smoking, good thing I don’t, and a whole shit load of rules, which I really didn’t want to follow. But the thought of hurting thisthing baby inside of me, was just heartbreaking. I might dislike children, but I could never hurt one of them. I looked down at my stomach and, what I had thought to be extra pounds, saw a little bulge in my stomach.

My baby.

I looked up at the ceiling as I laid on my bed that night, my hand absentmindedly rubbing my stomach. I was pregnant. It seemed impossible, the idea of me becoming a mother. It made me re-think my life, wishing that when this baby comes I could give it a better life, rather than one full of secrets.

Would the baby be a boy or a girl? Curiosity was killing me inside, wondering if I’d be a mother of a beautiful baby girl or a handsome little boy. Wow, now I sound like one of those actual pregnant people, the ones who talk to their stomachs, convinced the baby can hear them.

“I’m going to be a mom,” I said out loud, my hand still on my stomach, as it finally, finally, sank in.

And it felt, dare I say, good.