Status: Complete.
A Little More Than Convenient
Chapter 23-Letters
|Carmen Remington|
Dear Baby,
Well, it is now January. What that means is that in five months, you’ll be here. Your Daddy and I won’t know until you’re here whether you are a boy or a girl, because we want to be surprised, but I think that you’re going to be a boy. I’ve been eating a lot, and I don’t think that a girl could eat that much. Then again, I’m been really moody, too, and I can’t picture a boy being that emotional. Who knows, baby. I’m about to go buy some furniture for you today, so I’m gonna go. It’s weird that I already love you, but I do.
Love, Mommy
I put down my pen and smiled. The idea to write to the baby had not been my idea; it was Jessica’s. She and I were watching Waitress, and as soon as she learned that Keri Russell’s character was writing to her baby, she decided that I was going to have to.
At first, I was totally against the idea. I didn’t want the baby, so I didn’t see a point in writing to it. However, I was keeping it, so I decided there was no harm in pouring my thoughts into some letters. As an adolescent, I had kept diaries, so it wasn’t like I had never written before. My first letter to the baby was a bit harsh, though:
Dear Baby,
Let’s get one thing straight: I don’t want you. It’s nothing personal, it’s just that this situation does not call for a child. Your father and I don’t love each other, it’s that simple. We only got married because I needed money and he needed a wife. We never planned on conceiving you. I’m wondering if I should give you these letters when you’re older, they’ll probably just upset you. I’ve even debated putting my name into the letter, but I guess there’s really no way around that. My name is Carmen. Carmen Isabel Remington. It used to be Sanchez, but then I married your dad. His name is Trent Benjamin Remington. Now, don’t get me wrong, baby, I like your dad. It’s not like I hate him. It’s actually quite the opposite. Your dad’s a great guy, and a good catch, I’ll admit, but I just don’t love him. Basically, a baby was never part of the package.
Yours truly, Mommy
I’m a little ashamed that I ever wrote that. Now that I was used to the idea, I didn’t dread having the baby. One thing I hated was the stuff that came with being pregnant. Like for example, I still can’t sleep. It’s so bad now that I get up in the middle of the night to clean because everything seems dirty and stinky. Mom says that it’s “the nesting period,” which basically meant that I was trying to ready the house for the baby. Along with that, went cravings. Never in my life had I eaten so much chicken. I was always wanting chicken: baked, fried, steamed, broiled, grilled, you name it, I ate it. Especially chicken strips and chicken nuggets; I couldn’t get enough of them. On my lunch hours at work, I sped to McDonald’s or Sonic just to have my chicken fix.
Now that the Christmas party was over and done with, there wasn’t much for me to do, thankfully. Mostly all I did was answer Trent’s line and fill out his paperwork. The rest of the time, I was online, reading about what to do while your pregnant. Did you know that you shouldn’t do strenuous exercise while pregnant unless you did it before. I didn’t. Not that I’d exercise to begin with, it just surprised me. I know, I know, bad Carmen, but hey, I’m preggers. I have a right to be lazy.
Today, Trent and I were going shopping for baby furniture. Although we didn’t know the baby’s sex, I figured that we should still get a crib, a rocking chair, and a changing chair. In white, if nothing else. But I still wanted to write to the baby before we left.
It was January, therefore, I was four months pregnant, which meant that I was really beginning to show. My pants were getting to be too small, and I was forced to buy maternity jeans. And they made me feel über fat.
Writing to the baby, believe it or not, actually made me feel better. I felt like the baby was a real person, instead of an embryo, after being a zygote.
I still wasn’t sure what was going to happen later. Trent had held off paying my bills, because I told him to. I wanted us to have enough money to pay for all the baby stuff. Yet, that meant that we’d have to stay married longer. What would we tell the baby when we got divorced? They would be very upset, or at least, I would be if my parents got divorced. I didn’t want my child to go through that, but I didn’t see much of a solution to it.
“You know, we should be able to pull into a handicapped spot,” Trent said, driving around the parking lot at Furniture Row. “Why? I’m pregnant, not paraplegic,” I replied chuckling.
He shrugged. “Found one! And it’s mine!”
I was glad. It was very close to the entrance. Just as Trent went to pull his tan Suburban into the spot, an evergreen Honda Civic swooped in and took it.
“Damn it!” Trent yelled.
I tittered again.
“I have half a mind to go kick that guy’s ass. He saw me go to get that spot.”
“Maybe he didn’t notice.”
Wait...green Honda Civic. Christian had one. But there was no way that was his, was there?
A blond man slammed the door to the Honda Civic and stepped out toward the Suburban. He was glaring.
Trent quickly parked and then got out. I followed him.
The blond man walked up to us. Too bad that I wasn’t wrong. The man was Christian. “You almost fucking hit me!”
Trent’s entire facial expression changed. “Aren’t you Christian Nance? And you saw me go after that spot! I did not ‘almost fucking hit you,’” he mocked.
“Yeah? And you’re Trent Remington. The son of a bitch that married Carmen!” Christian barked back at him.
“Don’t call him that, Christian!” I snapped at him, “Just because I got a backbone and dumped your sorry ass, doesn’t mean you have a right to call Trent something that he’s not!”
Christian shook his head. “Stay out of this, Carmen. You fucking traitor.”
Did I forget to mention that Christian can’t really go a sentence without saying the “F” word. I know that I’ve said it before, but not in every sentence.
“I’m a traitor, Christian? Should I mention Tonya? Or Kathy? Or maybe Gracie and Lacey, the twins?! I never once cheated on you! Every single time I turned around, you were with another girl! You don’t get that back, Christian. Face it, I’m married to Trent, and I’m having his baby-”
“You’re having his baby?”
Shit, why did I say that?
“Y-yeah? What’s it matter?” I stammered.
Trent grasped my hand. I don’t know if it was to calm me down or to piss Christian off. It was working for both scenarios.
“I thought that you were just getting fat,” Christian declared.
I glared at him.
“Stop speaking to my wife that way,” Trent said, “or I’ll be forced to do something about it.”
Christian laughed. “What the hell? You’re not going to do anything.”
“Christian, shut up,” I warned.
I knew that Trent wouldn’t let that go undisciplined.
“Don’t tell me to shut up, you treason committing bitch.”
Let’s just say that Trent did something about it.
Dear Baby,
Well, it is now January. What that means is that in five months, you’ll be here. Your Daddy and I won’t know until you’re here whether you are a boy or a girl, because we want to be surprised, but I think that you’re going to be a boy. I’ve been eating a lot, and I don’t think that a girl could eat that much. Then again, I’m been really moody, too, and I can’t picture a boy being that emotional. Who knows, baby. I’m about to go buy some furniture for you today, so I’m gonna go. It’s weird that I already love you, but I do.
Love, Mommy
I put down my pen and smiled. The idea to write to the baby had not been my idea; it was Jessica’s. She and I were watching Waitress, and as soon as she learned that Keri Russell’s character was writing to her baby, she decided that I was going to have to.
At first, I was totally against the idea. I didn’t want the baby, so I didn’t see a point in writing to it. However, I was keeping it, so I decided there was no harm in pouring my thoughts into some letters. As an adolescent, I had kept diaries, so it wasn’t like I had never written before. My first letter to the baby was a bit harsh, though:
Dear Baby,
Let’s get one thing straight: I don’t want you. It’s nothing personal, it’s just that this situation does not call for a child. Your father and I don’t love each other, it’s that simple. We only got married because I needed money and he needed a wife. We never planned on conceiving you. I’m wondering if I should give you these letters when you’re older, they’ll probably just upset you. I’ve even debated putting my name into the letter, but I guess there’s really no way around that. My name is Carmen. Carmen Isabel Remington. It used to be Sanchez, but then I married your dad. His name is Trent Benjamin Remington. Now, don’t get me wrong, baby, I like your dad. It’s not like I hate him. It’s actually quite the opposite. Your dad’s a great guy, and a good catch, I’ll admit, but I just don’t love him. Basically, a baby was never part of the package.
Yours truly, Mommy
I’m a little ashamed that I ever wrote that. Now that I was used to the idea, I didn’t dread having the baby. One thing I hated was the stuff that came with being pregnant. Like for example, I still can’t sleep. It’s so bad now that I get up in the middle of the night to clean because everything seems dirty and stinky. Mom says that it’s “the nesting period,” which basically meant that I was trying to ready the house for the baby. Along with that, went cravings. Never in my life had I eaten so much chicken. I was always wanting chicken: baked, fried, steamed, broiled, grilled, you name it, I ate it. Especially chicken strips and chicken nuggets; I couldn’t get enough of them. On my lunch hours at work, I sped to McDonald’s or Sonic just to have my chicken fix.
Now that the Christmas party was over and done with, there wasn’t much for me to do, thankfully. Mostly all I did was answer Trent’s line and fill out his paperwork. The rest of the time, I was online, reading about what to do while your pregnant. Did you know that you shouldn’t do strenuous exercise while pregnant unless you did it before. I didn’t. Not that I’d exercise to begin with, it just surprised me. I know, I know, bad Carmen, but hey, I’m preggers. I have a right to be lazy.
Today, Trent and I were going shopping for baby furniture. Although we didn’t know the baby’s sex, I figured that we should still get a crib, a rocking chair, and a changing chair. In white, if nothing else. But I still wanted to write to the baby before we left.
It was January, therefore, I was four months pregnant, which meant that I was really beginning to show. My pants were getting to be too small, and I was forced to buy maternity jeans. And they made me feel über fat.
Writing to the baby, believe it or not, actually made me feel better. I felt like the baby was a real person, instead of an embryo, after being a zygote.
I still wasn’t sure what was going to happen later. Trent had held off paying my bills, because I told him to. I wanted us to have enough money to pay for all the baby stuff. Yet, that meant that we’d have to stay married longer. What would we tell the baby when we got divorced? They would be very upset, or at least, I would be if my parents got divorced. I didn’t want my child to go through that, but I didn’t see much of a solution to it.
“You know, we should be able to pull into a handicapped spot,” Trent said, driving around the parking lot at Furniture Row. “Why? I’m pregnant, not paraplegic,” I replied chuckling.
He shrugged. “Found one! And it’s mine!”
I was glad. It was very close to the entrance. Just as Trent went to pull his tan Suburban into the spot, an evergreen Honda Civic swooped in and took it.
“Damn it!” Trent yelled.
I tittered again.
“I have half a mind to go kick that guy’s ass. He saw me go to get that spot.”
“Maybe he didn’t notice.”
Wait...green Honda Civic. Christian had one. But there was no way that was his, was there?
A blond man slammed the door to the Honda Civic and stepped out toward the Suburban. He was glaring.
Trent quickly parked and then got out. I followed him.
The blond man walked up to us. Too bad that I wasn’t wrong. The man was Christian. “You almost fucking hit me!”
Trent’s entire facial expression changed. “Aren’t you Christian Nance? And you saw me go after that spot! I did not ‘almost fucking hit you,’” he mocked.
“Yeah? And you’re Trent Remington. The son of a bitch that married Carmen!” Christian barked back at him.
“Don’t call him that, Christian!” I snapped at him, “Just because I got a backbone and dumped your sorry ass, doesn’t mean you have a right to call Trent something that he’s not!”
Christian shook his head. “Stay out of this, Carmen. You fucking traitor.”
Did I forget to mention that Christian can’t really go a sentence without saying the “F” word. I know that I’ve said it before, but not in every sentence.
“I’m a traitor, Christian? Should I mention Tonya? Or Kathy? Or maybe Gracie and Lacey, the twins?! I never once cheated on you! Every single time I turned around, you were with another girl! You don’t get that back, Christian. Face it, I’m married to Trent, and I’m having his baby-”
“You’re having his baby?”
Shit, why did I say that?
“Y-yeah? What’s it matter?” I stammered.
Trent grasped my hand. I don’t know if it was to calm me down or to piss Christian off. It was working for both scenarios.
“I thought that you were just getting fat,” Christian declared.
I glared at him.
“Stop speaking to my wife that way,” Trent said, “or I’ll be forced to do something about it.”
Christian laughed. “What the hell? You’re not going to do anything.”
“Christian, shut up,” I warned.
I knew that Trent wouldn’t let that go undisciplined.
“Don’t tell me to shut up, you treason committing bitch.”
Let’s just say that Trent did something about it.