Rock-A-Bye Baby (A BWWM Pregnancy Romance)(4)

By: Vivian Ward

Something else that upsets me about his work is that even when he is home, he’s not ‘here’. He likes to lock himself in his study and write lyrics. I would say that he works on writing new songs about three or four days a week, and when he goes in there, he works for a long time. If I had to guess, I would venture to say that he probably writes at least 20 hours per week. Sometimes when he’s in there working, I’ll take him something to eat, and it’s like he barely notices me. When he’s not there writing, he’s gone at the studio working on recordings. It’s like his job is never ending. Over the years, it’s gotten to the point where I don’t even ask him where he’s going anymore because I already know the answer: the studio. As much as I’ve always appreciated his hard work, I wish he would have given it a rest to spend more one-on-one time with me before the baby is born. That’s the thing, though, even though he is dedicated to his work, I wouldn’t quite call him a workaholic. We have had lots of moments since I found out that I was pregnant where he focused all of his attention on me.

He’s made plenty of money that we could live off what’s in our bank account for the rest of our lives, but the problem is that he craves the fame and attention. We already own a nice house in the most beautiful neighborhood that Chicago has to offer, closets filled to the brim with designer clothes and kicks, and we each have pimped out rides. Lord knows there’s plenty of money in the savings, checking and investment accounts. What more could we ask for? Neither the baby nor I could ever want for anything, except for one thing: him.

Waiting for my S’mores to finish in the microwave, I pour myself a glass of milk and grab a few paper towels off the roll. Almost simultaneously, my cell phone starts to ring as the microwave begins to beep. I glance at the microwave and then look down at my cell phone. I see that it’s my cousin Candace calling and decide to answer it. We are best friends, and she is like my sister since I don’t have one; I’m an only child.


“Hey, girl. What are you up to?” she asks.

“I was about to have a snack and go to bed. Why are you calling so late?” I glance at the clock on the wall and realize that it’s almost 1 AM.

“You know how I am. I couldn’t sleep, and I started thinking. We should go shopping for some more baby stuff tomorrow.”

“Why? I have a lot of what I need. If we keep shopping like this, I won’t need a baby shower.”

“I know, but you know how much I love babies, and since I haven’t found Mr. Right, I figure I can live vicariously through you,” she says.

“Let me see what I have going on tomorrow. My mom wanted us to have lunch together in the afternoon. Maybe I’ll call her and see if you can come with us. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

“That’s not nearly as fun as shopping,” she sighs. “What time is she expecting you?”

“She said she wanted to have a late lunch. Maybe around one or two?”

“I can do that. Call me and let me know which time for sure so I know.”

“Okay, I’ll do that, and I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Good night.”

“Good night.”

My hands are a sticky mess, and I can’t grab the phone to hit the end button. I cradle it with my head and shoulder as I use my wrists to set it on the table, hoping I don’t drop it before it makes it to the table. Once I have the phone situation taken care of, I walk over to the sink and use the back of my hand to flip the faucet on. After allowing a minute to let the water warm up, I pump a dollop of soap into my hands and start washing the sticky goo into the sink. I hope this baby doesn’t inherit my messy traits. If that happens, I’ll be doing nothing but cleaning 24/7. Now I feel bad for my mom because I’m starting to realize what she dealt with when I was growing up. I hope I can be a good mom to this little girl that is due in August. Suddenly, I grasp how far away that actually is. I only have thirteen weeks until I’m due. Thirteen short weeks to figure out how to become a good mother. It’s not far away at all! At least, it is far enough away that I can start gathering tips from my mom and grandma until she’s born.

I finish drinking the last of my milk and put my dirty dishes in the dishwasher before I go upstairs to go to sleep. As I walk into the living room, I remember that I left my cell phone on the kitchen table. As much as I don’t want to, I go back in to grab it in case my mom or cousin call me in the morning before I wake up. Flipping off the kitchen light, I start making my way back through the dark living room where only the soft glow of the television gives me just enough light to make my way through the room.

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