Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
At least we’re having boys?
That’s a…positive, right?
“How is this fucking possible? Why is this happening!? Is it because my boyfriend’s so much fucking younger than I am? Has his sperm not finished developing their tiny sperm brains, so they don’t understand the whole one fucking baby at a time thing?!”
Look, I know I’m not always the smartest fuckhead in a room, but even I know that’s not how that shit works.
“Hennington,” the redheaded woman states at a slow, calming speed, “breathe.”
“Breathing is fucking overrated!” My wife shouts, entire body sitting completely upward. “Why are you just now telling me I’m having twins?!”
“Because you are just now showing up for your appointment,” she sasses back as she folds her arms across her chest. “You were the one who rescheduled this particular appointment three times, Hennington.”
“Three times?!” I thoughtlessly bark from the waiting chair I’m stationed in.
“I’m a busy fucking person!”
“And so am I,” Dr. Dillard casually retorts, “however, before I go and continue to do the other parts of my job, with other patients who too probably live busy lives, I’m going to finish doing it with you first.”
Harlow presses her lips together in an all too familiar fashion.
She wants to chirp her doctor.
She knows she shouldn’t.
But she really fucking wants to.
My head slowly twists from side to side to shut the shit down like a tendie who refuses to fail his teammates during a PK.
And fuck me, learning that we’re having twins does feels like some weird penalty kill shit being done on a double shot of whatthefuck whiskey.
“There are a few things you should know now that you are dealing with multiple births.”
“That just sounds like multiple penalties.”
See.
Wait.
Have we really spent so much time together that we now think the same?
Is this the type of shit that happens when you’re married?
Dr. Dillard tries to avoid smiling by professionally and promptly pushing past her patient’s retort, “Your online chart will include reading material for signs to be aware of going forward. Possible body changes. Recommended diet improvements or removals. And red flags that warrant a sooner visit than the increased visiting schedule you’re about to be on.”
“Increased?!” Harlow emotionally whines.
“Yes. Between having multiple births-”
“Forfuckssake, please stop saying that phrase.”
“-your older age and a few hereditary issues, you are now in an increased risk category.”
My light pink shorts covered ass flies to the edge of the seat. “What the fuck does that shit mean?”
“It means,” her gaze oscillates between us while providing the answer, “that I would like her coming in twice a month instead of just once to closely monitor the progress of the pregnancy. At this time, there is no reason for any alarm; however, keeping a better and steadier and more consistent handle on the situation will allow us to be proactive versus reactive if anything abnormal develops.”
“Forfuckssake,” Harlow overdramatically gripes on a drop of her head backwards.
“We understand,” I warmly state to the woman in the white coat prior to looking around her thin frame to viciously bite at the woman carrying my children. “Don’t we, Harlow?”
She cuts a disapproving glare my direction yet doesn’t have the chance to speak due to the doctor cooing, “Aw, she lets you call her Harlow? That’s so sweet.”
It is.
It’s a fucking privilege that I don’t take lightly much like the D I rock on my chest for work.
But…bottom of the whiskey glass truth is…it’s one she may revoke in about two minutes when I chew her ass the fuck out.
And I’m chewing hard.
We’re talking gonna verbally hit like the cheapest bottle of vodka they sell hard.
“Do you two have any questions or concerns you would like to discuss with me before our visit ends?”
“You’re not gonna start charging me twice as much for these visits, are you? It’s a two for one special, right?” Harlow sarcastically snips with a sardonic smirk.
“Hennington, I understand this is not what you expected-”
“No, scoring a silky mitted nineteen-year-old from Milan during The Draft was not what I expected. Having two fucking kids when I can still hardly fathom, I’m having one is like playing in the bush league yesterday but being expected to suit up for The Cup today. This shit is. In. Fucking. Conceivable.”
Dr. Dillard nods in what I’m assuming is a sympathetic way. “Everyone processes pregnancy different, Hennington. Take the time to do that for yourself. And take it without guilt. And if you need resources or references for someone to speak to about the process or changes feel free to let me know and I’ll arrange some reference materials as well as recommend outside sources such as a therapist or support group. Remember you are not in the situation alone.”
“No. The. Fuck. You. Are. Not,” I growl her direction.
My response causes the doctor to dismiss herself from the growing tension. “Stop by the front desk and make your next appointment before you leave, okay?”