One hundred and two

Nausea or fatigue, I don’t know which I will pick. Right now, I am tired of being tired from doing nothing all day. Pregnancy is a lot of work. Brandon is acting suspicious, my advisor is giving me hell, my shirts are tighter, jeans barely fit. Everything is against me.

Taking the stairs two at a time in a yoga pant pulled over my football-sized bump, I step into the kitchen and head straight for the fridge, the bottle of Nutella hidden behind an egg box. Sunlight baths the top of the island in a golden glow, I dip my hand into the chill chocolate goodness, scooping it into my mouth. Brandon will have a heart attack if he sees me right now with chocolate staining the corners of my lips but that can never equal the headache from my overthinking due to his attitude. He can't even act normal.

He had better not be cheating on me or I will cut off his balls and feed it to him. He can't cheat. He won't.

With the stress of hand