Imperfect

E I G H T E E N - A B I G A L E M U L L I N S

It's been awhile, a very long while now; I'm too big to barely get up now. I spend most of my times in the bed, ringing a loud bell for Lawrence to do my liking, whatever I desire.

I rubbed my seven month belly as it moved, kicked, and wobbled—giving me the pleasure of laughter.

"Baby Amara is moving," my husband came into the room with my plate of vanilla cake, smothered with melted, strawberry ice cream and with a glass of milk, "isn't she?"

"She's moving a lot," I informed Lawrence as he gave me my food, "I can barely do anything."

I was eating while Lawrence watched me as if he put something in it that could harm me.

"Lawrence," I put the fork down, "you wouldn't do anything to harm this baby, would you?"

"Really," my husband quickly got offended, "why would I do something to my own daughter? That is so messed up that you would think that, Abby..."

He got up from the bed, pissed off and not even looking at me.

"Hold on baby, stop," I begged for my man to return back to me, "I'm  sorry, it was just these hormones... I didn't mean the words that I was saying—honestly."

He turned back around, looking at me, knowing that this wasn't the way that I normally acted.

"I forgive you baby," he came back towards my bed, "you're just like that because our little angel is making you feel like that."

Lawrence began rubbing my belly so softly. He was so in love, he was so excited to be a father, and I was happy for him.

"You wanna hear her, baby?" I asked my husband as I devoured my sugary goodness.

"Always baby," he smiled, putting his ear to my stomach, "always..."

He rubbed my belly softly as he was listening to the sound of Amara moving.

Lawrence jumped a little after feeling her kick.

"Did you just kick daddy?" he questioned my belly.

"She's gonna be bad, I see..." I told my husband.

"Speaking of bad," he said, leaving my kicking belly, "how bad do you want this baby shower?"

"Really bad," I said, "I want this so bad, babe!"

He took my plate of sweets away from me, "That's too much sugar for you and the baby."

"You didn't say that when you just willingly handed it to me..." I told him.

He laughed at me, not knowing what to say next—I got him, and I loved it.

"Mike dropped..." I laughed.

"Shut up..." he told me.

"Never..." I smiled.

"What would I do without you?" he asked me as he looked at me, sitting on the bed beside me.

"The same that I would've did—nothing..." I responded to my husband as I grabbed the plate from his hand, continuing to eat for not only me, but for Amara as well.

"But seriously," Lawrence said to me, eating some of my cake, "if I tell my Aunt to do the baby shower, who would you invite? We are barely friends with anybody..."

"I guess you can invite your friend/ex..." I laughed...

"Who do you mean?" he questioned me.

"Rachel—we sorta settled it. Whatever she says wouldn't bother me anyway, because I have what she doesn't, a family that loves me..."

"So basically you want to rub that in her face." he asked me.

"Duh," I responded with a laugh, "of course... but don't say that I invited her—I want you to invite her."

"Okay," Lawrence said, "but what about your friend, Michael?"

"Yeah," I told him, "sure he can come. I invited him to the wedding, and I didn't see or hear a word from him. So, yeah he can come."

"How are you going to approach these people though," my husband continued to burn me down with his questions, "are you going to go up to these people and tell them that they are invited to your baby shower?"

"Hell no, of course not," I shocked him, "I was just going send them a picture of the flyer via message or via Facebook."

"You are so antisocial..." Lawrence laughed as he stopped eating my food, looking at me.

"But, who am I not antisocial around?" I asked him, throwing my sugary goods all over his face.

Not upset or mad at all the food being all over his face, he took it from his face and slung it on my face.

"Me," he laughed, "you're not antisocial around me..."