I never read the wishes he wrote last year, but I’m sure they weren’t as wonderful as these. It’s probably better not to have read them.
I feel good today. I haven’t vomited. When I finish collecting the ornaments, I decide to take a walk in the countryside with Susto and Calamar. Seeing me grab the leashes, they jump like crazy.
How long since I’ve done this?
The field is beautiful. It snowed, and it’s a wonderland all around me. For a long time, I just throw sticks. Susto and Calamar run after them. After spending a very pleasant time out in the fresh air, the three of us return home. It’s the kind of cold that makes your skin peel, and my hands are frozen stiff and very wet.
In the afternoon, when Eric comes home, he gets upset when he finds out I went out alone with the dogs.
“I’m not angry because you went for a walk, Jude, but because you went alone.”
“But what did you want me to do?” I argue. “Simona wasn’t here, and I wanted to take a walk.”
“And what if you’d suddenly not felt well, what then?”
We’re facing off in his office when the door flies open and in come Flyn and Björn. We shut up, and the boy runs to me, hugs me, and looks accusingly at his uncle.
“Why are you always angry with my aunt?”
“What did you say?” Eric asks.
But Flyn’s angry voice is equal to his uncle’s.
“Don’t you see she’s not feeling well? Don’t yell at her.”
Eric looks at him, annoyed.
“Flyn, don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, OK?”
“Then don’t yell at Jude.”
“Flyn . . . ,” Eric says in warning.
The boy looks at me. I know him, and I know he’s going to talk back, so I jump in before he has a chance to say anything else.
“OK, honey, go with Simona and let her know I want to have a snack with you today.”
The boy nods, gives his uncle one of his icy looks, and leaves. Once the three of us are alone, Björn gives me an affectionate kiss on the cheek.
“Well, well, now I see what kind of support Jude has.”
Eric smiles and nods.
“Flyn has decided to overprotect his aunt-mom Jude. And he really believes he has the last word. Moreover, I’m sure that right now he’d rather I leave than her.”
“Don’t doubt it,” I say, teasing, but that just earns me an icy look from my love.
“If you’re going to argue, I’m leaving,” says Björn, laying a folder on Eric’s desk.
“I’m the one who’s leaving,” I say. “I’m hungry, and I want a snack.”
Eric’s surprised. “You’re hungry?”
It’s the first time in a long time I can confirm that.
“God, eat everything and anything you want, sweetheart.”
The double meaning I give to that makes me laugh, but I don’t say anything. I leave the office for the kitchen. Simona’s preparing a sandwich for Flyn.
“Is it true you want a snack?”
I nod and put the chocolate and vanilla plum cake she made on the table.
“I’m dying to eat this.”
Simona and Flyn smile, and I stuff myself with the plum cake.
Days go by, and my nausea disappears. I’m so happy!
I’ve suddenly started to recover my strength, and everything that made me sick months ago now seems rich and wonderful. I listen to music and dance again.
Eric is thrilled on seeing this turn of events, and I can’t even describe how I feel. I’m finally able to eat breakfast, and it feels so good. Day by day, I dare to eat more things, and suddenly I’m gobbling everything up. I’m a bottomless pit!
I get addicted to Simona’s plum cake and ice cream. I want to eat them all the time, and Eric, to please me, fills the freezer with all kinds of flavors while Simona spends the whole day making plum cake after plum cake. They spoil me plenty.
In time, Eric and Flyn go back to their old ways too. If I’m careless, they’ll throw themselves on the couch and play Wii for hours. That drives me crazy, even though I’ve convinced them to not have the game music on all the time.
While they play, I read the books I bought about babies and births. Sometimes I read things that give me goose bumps, but I have to be strong and continue. I must be informed. I’m going to be a mom!
One Saturday afternoon, after I convince them to take a walk in the countryside with the dogs, we’re all frozen when we get back.
As usual, uncle and nephew take up the Wii and play. Of the two, I don’t know who’s the bigger kid. For more than an hour, I play with them, but when my fingers hurt from so much playing, I decide to give myself a bath in our beautiful Jacuzzi.
I go up to our room, drink a little juice, and prep the Jacuzzi. I light candles that smell like peach and put on music to relax. Perfect! When the Jacuzzi’s full, I carefully step into it.
“Oh yes . . . ,” I say. “This is the life.”
I close my eyes and relax.
The music plays, and I notice how my body releases tensions second by second. I love these moments of peace. I deserve them. But then the bathroom door opens, and there’s Flyn.
So much for peace!
He puts a hand over his eyes so he can’t see my breasts.
“I’m going with Aunt Marta to her house.”
“Oh, is Marta here?”
“Yes, here I am!” she says with Eric in tow.
My relaxing bath has gone to hell.
“What’s going on? Did something happen?” I ask.
My sister-in-law smiles and winks at me.
“I was hanging out with my friend Tatiana, and, when we went by her house, she gave me that little dress you asked about a long time ago. You know, the blue one. So, I left it in your closet.” I laugh when I think about the blue dress. “And since tomorrow I’m going riding in a hot-air balloon with Arthur, I thought maybe Flyn would like to join us.”
“Yes, yes, yes, I want to go!” the boy exclaims.
I look at Eric. He’s serious. Like always, he considers the pros and cons of balloon riding and when I see him hesitate, I know I have to say something.
“It seems perfect, Flyn. Have a good time, honey.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Every time he calls me that, my heart leaps with joy.
Eric looks at me. I smile, and then the boy kisses me and runs to his uncle.
“I promise I’ll pay attention to everything Aunt Marta says . . . Dad.”
I laugh. My grumpy Smurf is pretty smart.
In the end, my Iceman defrosts. He smiles, hugs the boy, and kisses him on the head.
“Have fun,” he says, then turns to his sister. “Please keep an eye on him; be careful. I don’t want anything to happen.”
Amused, Marta rolls her eyes.
“C’mon, Flyn. Let me put a collar and leash on you.”
When everyone finally leaves the bathroom, I lie back in the Jacuzzi. I close my eyes again and try to relax.
A little music . . .
A little calm . . .
I’m almost there when the door opens again. Eric. Again. Before he can say anything, I try to reassure him.
“Nothing’s going to happen, honey. Marta takes good care of Flyn.”
My guy doesn’t answer, but he comes up to the Jacuzzi. He’s looking at my nipples. With my pregnancy, they’ve gotten dark and huge and tempting.
“Do you want to give me a little kiss here?” I ask as I point to my nipple.
Eric leans down, and I yank him, fully dressed, into the Jacuzzi. The water overflows, and the entire bathroom floods. I laugh, and he goes to protest, then cracks up too.
But he grimaces when he gets near one of the lit candles.
“Did you burn yourself?” I ask, concerned.
Eric examines his hand.
“No, sweetheart, but be careful with so many candles, or we’ll end up with a visit from the fire department.”
&n
bsp; That makes me laugh. I finally manage to take off his clothes and leave him naked in the Jacuzzi despite his protests. I get out of the water, and, being careful not to slip on the wet floor, I throw down about two hundred towels and stomp all over them.
“I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise?”
I nod and open the door.
“Give me two minutes and don’t move.”
Happy to find myself feeling so much better, I go to the closet where Marta left the little blue dress! I’m going to surprise him!
I put on the firefighter’s outfit, though it’s a little big on me, and go back to the bathroom, where I see my favorite German’s surprised face.
“Did the gentleman call the fire department?”
Eric laughs.
“Where did you get that?”
“A friend of your sister’s left it for me.”
“For what?”
Oh, how little imagination men have sometimes.
“For a striptease, silly boy.”
“A striptease?” he asks, open-mouthed.
I say yes.
“I’ve never really performed one for you.”
My guy raises his eyebrows, sprawls in the Jacuzzi, and nods delightedly.
I go change the CD. Moments later, music begins to play, and, recognizing it, Eric claps and laughs.
Start the show!
Tom Jones’s sultry voice begins to sing “Sex Bomb” and, without an iota of shame, I wiggle to the beat of the music. I slide off my huge jacket and throw it aside. Eric whistles. After that comes the helmet. I toss my hair in the purest Hollywood way. Eric applauds and whistles again, and I cheer as I sing.
Piece by piece, I strip off the firefighter’s outfit while my sweetheart gazes at me just the way I like: with desire. I know he’s loving this. His expression and the intensity of his look give him away. I dance; I shimmy. When I’m finally naked, I get in the Jacuzzi. Eric kisses me.
“I love you, my little stripper.” He reaches for my breasts. “These are the nicest ever.”
That makes me laugh. Actually, pregnancy has made my breasts incredible. Every time I look at them in the mirror, I love them more, but I know that when Medusa comes, they’ll disappear.
Excited by the show I’ve offered him, my love grabs me by the waist and sits me on top of him in the Jacuzzi. He penetrates me gently while he murmurs in my ear.
“You really are a sex bomb, sweetheart.”
“Yes . . . and that bomb is about to explode.”
Eric grins and, when I go to hold on to the Jacuzzi to better position myself on him, he stops me.
“Let me, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not hurting me.”
“Careful, sweetheart . . . slowly.”
But I don’t want care or slow. I want passion and force.
“Jude . . . ,” he scolds me.
“Eric . . . ,” I scold him back.
My German looks at me, stops, and spoils our beautiful moment.
“Jude, either you do it carefully so as not to hurt yourself, or we’re not doing anything.”
I have two options: I can get angry and send him out for a walk or accept his caution.
I decide on the second option. I want sex!
I let him set the pace. I let him limit himself and limit me, and although we have a good time, when we reach our climax, I know we both missed our wild side.
When we go to bed that night, he kisses me and tenderly hugs me.
“I love you, sex bomb.”
In February I enter my fifth month, and my body has undergone many changes. The first is that now I notice how Medusa moves. The second is that my little belly is becoming a balloon. If it goes on like this, I’m not going to be able to walk. I’m going to roll!
Everything that thinned out the first months has fattened up in the blink of an eye.
“Judith,” my gynecologist says when she weighs me, “you must begin to control your diet. In this last month you’ve gained almost eight pounds.”
“OK,” I say.
Eric intuits that I’m lying, and I make sure I speak before he does.
“Give me a diet, and I’ll follow it,” I tell the doctor.
She opens a folder, and, after looking at several sheets, she hands me one.
“This will be best for you.”
Diets and I have never been friends.
We talk to the doctor about what my body needs, and she tells me this next month, the sixth, I should start prenatal classes. I listen to everything she has to say.
“And can I have sex?”
Eric looks at me. He knows why I’m asking.
“Of course, yes. Your sex life should be normal,” the gynecologist says.
“Normal?” I insist.
“Totally normal,” she says.
I’m about to ask if it can be more intense than normal, but Eric’s eyes tell me to cool it. I back off. I don’t want to irritate him with my direct questions.
When it’s time to do the ultrasound, I can hardly look at the screen. Eric’s face is so expressive that I feel like covering him with kisses right then and there.
“Look at your baby!” says the gynecologist.
I say “ohh!” in this cottony way that’s reminiscent of my sister. I’m turning into a gushball.
“Incredible,” Eric murmurs.
Eric and I stare at the 3-D ultrasound like two fools and grin.
“Can you see if it’s a boy or a girl?” I ask.
The doctor moves the device, but we can’t see anything. The baby’s not cooperating.
“Sorry. Your baby’s legs are crossed in a way that I can’t tell.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Eric says. “The important thing is the baby’s well.”
The doctor nods.
“It’s going to be a pretty big baby.”
Stop!
Did she say big?
How big?
That’s terrifying. The bigger, the more painful to get that baby out of me.
But I don’t want to screw up this moment, so I just shut up. For several minutes, the doctor lets us stare at the screen, and, when the session ends, Eric and I kiss each other. Everything’s going well!
When we get home, excited about what the doctor has shown us, we let Flyn, Norbert, and Simona also see the images. We all watch like fools, playing the video several times.
That I’m back to my usual good mood pleases everyone. Laughter has returned to the house. I play jokes and am my usual crazy self.
That night, when we go up to our room, I sit on the bed next to Eric.
“Have you thought of a name for Medusa?” I ask him.
“If it’s a girl, I would like her named Hannah, after my sister,” he says.
I agree. I like the name, and it seems like a beautiful idea.
“What if it’s a boy?” I ask.
My German kisses me.
“If it’s a boy, you choose. What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Manuel, like my father.”
Eric nods. I snuggle up against him.
“I want you.”
He lies back on the bed.
“And I want you, beautiful,” he murmurs.
Oh yeah, oh yeah . . .
The months of drought and malaise are over.
I want my Iceman, and he wants me. Without stopping to kiss me, Eric takes off my panties, crawls between my legs, and, without preliminaries, slowly introduces his penis in me.
My God, I’ve been so long without this feeling.
I wrap my legs around his body, but Eric pulls back.
“No, sweetheart . . . I don’t want to risk hurting the baby.”
I stop and look at him.
“What did you say?”
He’s still inside me.
“I don’t want to put too much pressure on you. I don’t want to hurt the baby.”
I laugh. Oh, what a pisser!
&
nbsp; He thinks he’s going to hit Medusa on the head with his dick. When he sees me laughing, he frowns.
“I don’t know what you think is so funny. I don’t think I’m saying anything crazy.”
Gripping his ass hard, I impale myself on him, and he gasps.
“This is what I need,” I tell him. “Give it to me.”
Eric resists, and I repeat the same operation. I force myself on him. This time we both gasp.
That depth is what I need, what I crave. Eric’s breathing accelerates. He tries to fight against his animal instincts. I provoke him by rubbing against him, and in the end, I win.
Eric is so hot, so excited, that he puts my hands flat on the bed, and, without thinking, starts pumping inside me with passion and delight. I don’t stop him. His thrusts make me feel alive. I need this. Oh yeah.
I rotate my hips to give him even more depth, and I scream. I bite him on the shoulder, and Eric grinds his teeth as he sinks into me again and again, and I go crazy.
Our animal instincts emerge, and we savor our hot encounter.
When we finish, we’re both panting. We haven’t done anything like that in a long time.
“I want to do it again,” I say.
Eric leaps out of bed.
“No, sweetheart. We can’t do it like that again.”
I protest but he’s adamant.
“Think about what happened last time.”
“But, Eric . . .”
“I said no.”
“But I need it. My hormones are out of control and—”
“No, sweetheart. That’s enough for today.”
I feel a heat rising.
My eyes fill, and I sit and sob on the bed. I’ve become such a crybaby. I cover my face with my hands.
“Sweetheart, sweetheart, don’t cry. Get mad at me, yell at me, but don’t cry.”
He pulls my hands from my face, and, despite how horrible I am when I cry, I look at him and whimper.
“You don’t like me anymore.”
“Don’t say that, my treasure.”
“I don’t turn you on at all anymore. I have big, dark nipples and . . . and . . . I’m fat . . . and ugly, and that’s why you don’t want to make love with me.”
Tell Me What You Want—Or Leave Me Page 27
