Page 79 of Bringing Home the Bacon
“It’s officially four o’clock, fuckers!” I yell. “Where the hell is it?”
Gran walks into the kitchen at that exact inopportune moment. “Colleen Murphy Bedd. For the last time, language! My great-grandchildren can hear you!”
“You’re right, Gran, I’m sorry.” I rub my large-and-in-charge belly. “Sorry, kiddos. Mommy will do better.”
A car rumbling up the drive has us both looking out the window.
“That’s Molly and Alex here to escort us to the opening,” Gran says. “Get your shoes on, missy. It’s time to get your man.”
“I have every intention of getting my man,” I say, “but I need this book to be delivered first so I can bring it with me. It factors into my whole plan for getting him back.”
Gran gives me a doubtful look.
“I promise I’ll be there. As soon as it arrives, I’ll walk over.” I pause. “Gran, I wrote it for him. I don’t want to just tell him how much I love him. I want to show him.”
“Kids today.” She shakes her head, but I see her smile as she shuts the door behind her.
After I watch Alex walk across the field with Molly and Gran, I’m left alone in the kitchen, willing the delivery truck to appear.
A dull pang aches in my belly again. I’ve been getting these on and off since late last night. They’re not painful exactly. More like a tightening and relaxing every few minutes. I called Climax OB-GYN this morning to make sure this is normal. When I described the sensation to them, they said at thirty-four weeks pregnant, they were most likely Braxton Hicks contractions and nothing to worry about. They told me to call again if they intensified.
Another pang hits me, a little sharper this time.
I close my eyes and breathe through it.
Just then, the front doorbell rings.
By the time get to the door, I see the delivery truck pulling out of our drive and onto the street.
“It’s here!” I shout to no one. I look down past our front steps, and right next to our bright yellow flowerpot is a flat rectangular cardboard box holding my first-ever published children’s book inside.
I try to ignore the pangs in my belly as I sit down on the middle step and tear into the package.
Collie and Porky’s Great Adventure is emblazoned on the cover above an illustration of a little girl Border collie dog and a little boy potbellied pig. Underneath the image are the glorious words “by Colleen Murphy Bedd.”
Happy tears stream down my cheeks as I flip through the book. Every word I wrote gleams up at me from the glossy pages, filling me with pride unlike I’ve ever felt before.
Just then, Baabara saunters up beside me. And because I want to share my happiness with someone—and for some reason, my biggest life moments always seem to involve this sheep—I say, “Hey, girl! Come look.”
Big mistake.
Baabara looks at the book, alright. And then she promptly snatches it in her slobbery muzzle and hauls sheep ass around the side of the house.
“No!” I scream. “Bad sheep! Bad!”
I leap to my feet and experience the strongest, sharpest pang in my belly yet.
Either pregnant women shouldn’t be leaping or I’m in labor.
I need to call Bacon.
But I also need to catch that damn sheep.
“Baabara!” I walk as quickly as I can in the direction I saw her last. “Baabara, get back here this minute! Baabara!”
When I turn the corner, Bacon holds my rambunctious sheep by the scruff of her neck. “Hi,” he says. “Seemed like you could use a little help.”
I run up to him, kiss him, and hug him for dear life.
