Baby on Board

32

EDIT: Damn it! Accidentally pressed 'Publish' instead of save when I was editing. Oh, well. No point taking it down. Enjoy. 

I never thought I'd find something that I didn't love about Isaac. I hate people that snore but whenever Isaac did it, his eyes would flutter and those long lashes of his would seem like they were batting for me. It's cute. The fact that he talks in his sleep would annoy me, only then he'd go and say something totally sweet and my heart would melt. Music wise, I don't like anything he listens to because really, what sane person outs AC/DC on repeat for about ten hours a day? Still, he sings the lyrics in a much softer tone to the baby and honestly, I've never found him more attractive.

However, today is the day that I have finally found something about him that I hate. It's going to sound so silly, too, but really, it is the most grotesque thing ever. It's the way he eats. Well, no, it's not even that. It's the sound of him eating. Has he always been a heavy breather when he eats? Like, why does it take him half an hour to bite down on something, making the noise excruciating painful to be around? And then there's the chewing. There's only so much I can take but right now, as I sit opposite him in La Petite, I want to reach across the table and strangle him.

"Can you stop doing that, please?" I beg. I grip my hair with my hands and feel the burning sensation as each strand pulls at my scalp. The tension in my shoulders, my hands, my fingers, however, don't allow me to let go. Not until Isaac desists with the eating. "Stop!"

He does. Briefly. Only to shoot me a confused glance. He takes another bite from his croissant and chews again. "What am I supposed to be stopping?" There's a small piece of the flaky breakfast treat at the corner of his mouth and it's irritating me. Thankfully, he catches where my hot stare is and swiftly wipes away the crumb. "Lottie, are you ok?"

Shaking my head, I snatch the plate from him and walk into the kitchen to discard the half eaten breakfast. Ignoring his pleas that he hasn't finished, I take some solace in the quietness of the kitchen and do some deep breathing. Only that doesn't go so well because I don't actually know how to do any deep breathing. I haven't found a class that I can seamlessly join yet and with time running out, I doubt that I will find one.

I really need to learn to breathe. If labour is going to be as frustrating as this is for me, then I need to be able to get through it without feeling like I'm on the verge of exploding.

"Boss, you ok?" I look up to see one of the staff, Lauren, watching me with concern from the kitchen doorway. She brings in some dirty dishes and places them near the sink before rinsing them and placing the plates, cups and cutlery in the dishwasher. Pressing a button, she set the machine and comes to stand next to me. "You look like a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown. What's up, chick?"

"I can't breathe," I tell her. Knowing that doesn't make much sense on its own, I elaborate. "I mean, Isaac and I get kicked out of anti-natal classes, or I leave, or whatever. He's sitting out there, eating, doing my head in and I can't breathe because I haven't been taught how to. It's a disaster. Nugget's due at the end of September and it's just going to be so not what I envisaged it to be. I want one of those calm, peaceful, silent Scientology kind of birth but it won't be. Because no one has taught me how to breathe."