Page 164 of Black Flag

“I want those coconutshrimp we had in Key West.”

“Okay...wellthat will be a little harder to do.”

“Harder?” her tiny handslipped inside my jeans.

“If you distract me...I can’t go get you food.” I hinted butreally, I didn’t want her to stop.

I rolled over her so Iwas between her legs, ready and willing.

And by the look of puresexual frustration on Sway’s face, she did too.

“Food?”I suggested when herstomach growled again.

“Yes,food.”She agreed and sat up when I felt the baby kicking against my stomach. “See, hewants food too.”

“He’s not even here yetand he’s already running our lives.” I teased rolling off the bed. “I shallreturn with food, and then you have some ego stroking to do once again.”

“Yes,” Sway smiled.“Ego stroking,”

The following day,after food was delivered and egos were stroked, we once again had to take Swayto the doctor. She went every few days now to check the baby’s progress and tobe sure she wasn’t dilating any further.

There we sat in thewaiting room of the doctor’s office. I had to fly out to Texas tomorrow so Iwas spending as much time with Sway as possible even if it meant we were at thedoctor’s office.

Sway glanced through amagazine I couldn’t see the cover to and I tried to figure out the woman nextto me. It was public office, about ten other patients waiting to be seen andshe is breastfeeding, I assume. If not, what the fuck? I don’t have anything againstbreastfeeding and agree with it being best for the child but isn’t there an agelimit?

The child, definitelynot a baby, eventually pulled away and wiped his fucking chin. I’m not shittingyou either.

“Hi,” the child said tome. “What’s your name?”

Don’t think I wasn’ttempted to lie, ‘causeI was.

Sway nudged my ribs soI felt the need to tell the truth.

“Jameson,” I saidpolitely.

His mother looked atme, comprehension flashed. “Like as in Jameson Riley the race car driver?”

“Yes ma’am,”

“Wow,” she gaspedscrambling for words. “I’m Emily,” she pointed toward the boy. “That’s my son,Ben.”

Trying to change thesubject away from me, I asked her, “How old is he?”

“Oh, he’s thirty-sevenmonths.” She informed me.

While I sat baffledtrying to figure out what thirty-seven months added up to, I decided to focuson the bigger issue at hand and not my poor math skills. Why the fuck was shestill breastfeeding? Do women breastfeed that long? Alley didn’t. WouldSwaybreastfeed that long?

Thankfully, Dr. Searscalled Sway back so I politely excused myself. The ultrasound was entertaining.Our flailing spaz didn’t disappoint. He was getting much bigger, and waspracticing his breathing, which Dr. Sears told us was a good sign. Sway wasmeasuring at twenty-four weeks, another eight weeks of bed rest.

Sway voiced her angerrather loudly about being on bed rest which had Dr. Sears laughing, or feelingsorry for me. I’m not really sure by his harried expression.

As we were exiting theroom, Emily was being escorted back to a room, carrying her thirty-seven monthold kid-baby on her hip.

“Bye Jameson, it wasnice to meet you,” she told me. “Can you say bye to Jameson?” she asked in babytalk to this Ben kid-baby, who she held like a baby kangaroo and took thepacifier out of his thirty-seven-month old mouth.

“Bye,” he said shyly,and then nuzzled his head into Emily’s shoulder.

“What the hell was thatall about?” Sway asked as we got inside the car. “How old was that kid? Helooked eight-years old.”

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