MILF in Training
Violet
After I pee on the stick and discover that Alex’s super sperm have succeeded in impregnating me with what I’m expecting will be his superior athletic offspring, I spend the afternoon doing pretty much anything except work. I’d feel baddish, but I’m on salary and what I don’t finish here I’ll take care of at home.
Instead of managing my accounts I look up creative ways to tell Alex he’s going to be a dad. I find the perfect set of couples shirts and order them express so I have them for when he arrives home tomorrow afternoon. I follow that up by ordering several throw pillows, a cake with a special inscription and a personalized bottle of sparkling white grape juice.
At the end of the workday, in which I’ve completed little to no actual work, I head home with the intention of decorating the house for his arrival. I should have loads of time to accomplish this since his flight doesn’t land until early afternoon tomorrow.
Except I’m super tired after a long day of being excited and a little terrified that a human life is growing inside my body. So instead of decorating, Charlene and I order takeout and look at cute baby stuff online until I pass out on her shoulder. She’s kind enough to wake me up and forces me to go upstairs to my bed so I don’t wake up with a crick in my neck. Charlene is a great bestie. If I have a girl, I hope she has a bestie who’s as awesome as Char.
I sleep until noon the next day. I would’ve slept longer but the doorbell keeps ringing. I grab the sleeve of soda crackers from the nightstand—apparently it helps with morning sickness, which I don’t have yet, but is supposed to hit around the eight week mark—and get my ass out of bed so I can answer it.
It isn’t until I open the door that I remember I have a whole bunch of stuff arriving today and it appears as though I’ve slept through several deliveries based on the number of boxes at my front door. The current delivery is the cake.
The delivery guy has a hard time making eye contact, which is my fault since I’m wearing a t-shirt with no bra that says HANDS GO HERE over my chest. I sign for the cake, send delivery guy on his way and carry the box carefully into the kitchen. I cry when I open it, because it’s absolutely perfect. Also, I’m pregnant and everything makes me cry.
Aside from the text that reads “Super Sperm Gets the Job Done” it’s also decorated with a sperm wearing a cape. He’s swimming toward an egg with her arms outstretched and heart eyes. I’m aware eggs don’t have arms or eyes, but for the sake of the cake they do.
Once I get myself together I bring in all the other items from the front porch. Then I sit down and drink half a gallon of orange juice because I’m thirsty and eat most of a sleeve of soda crackers because they taste okay and I’m too lazy to make anything else. While I eat I open the rest of the boxes. The fake champagne label is inscribed with: “Congratulations Alex! You knocked me up!”
Once I’m done with breakfast I bring the throw pillows upstairs and arrange them on our bed, which really means I toss them in with the other seventy-five million pillows I’ve purchased since we got married. The new ones say We Made a Baby Here and MOMMA to be and DADDY to be.
It’s already one in the afternoon and Alex will be home soon, so I get in the shower, clean all the sleep off my body and prepare it for Alex’s arrival. If I’d had time I would’ve gotten my beaver bedazzled, but my new underpants will have to do. I did manage to get my nails done, though. They’re yellow with little tiny diapers and bottles drawn on them.
By the time I’m done in the shower I’m already wishing I could lie down and take a nap. I guess the whole pregnancy thing explains why I’m so tired all the time and why I’ve been falling asleep at eight o’clock every night.
I pull on a pair of leggings that Alex thinks are particularly flattering on my butt. Then I carefully wrangle my sensitive boobs into my new bra, I’m up another cup size, which sucks because now I’m at the point where I’ll have to get them all custom made and I’ve been told they’ll only get bigger as pregnancy goes on.
I pull the shirt over my head and frown at how tight it is across my chest. Also, there’s an insane amount of cleavage since it’s a V-neck. Hmm. I guess I should’ve gone up a size. Oh well, it’ll serve its purpose and I assume it won’t stay on long since Alex will likely want to celebrate his knocking me up with sexy times.
The sound of the alarm beeping downstairs signals that Alex is home. I cup my boobs and look at my reflection in the mirror. “Look alive, girls, we’re about to drop the baby bomb!” I do a shimmy shake, then cringe, because that hurts.
I rush downstairs—carefully though, because I’m not known for my coordination and the last thing I need is to fall. I grab my purse from the bottom of the stairs and root around until I find the pregnancy test, which I quickly stick a bow on and set on top of the cake box in the kitchen.
I take a deep breath and head down the hall with the goal of intercepting Alex. The door connected to the garage swings open and Alex steps into the front foyer. He drops his bag and scoops me up in his arms, lifting me off the floor and crushing me to his chest. “God, it’s so good to be home.”
He nuzzles into my neck, lips moving along my jaw to my mouth. I don’t even get a chance to tell him I missed him before his tongue is in my mouth and he’s wrapping my legs around his waist. I indulge in the mouth fucking, because Alex is a fantastic kisser. He kneads my ass as he carries me across the foyer. I realize he’s headed for the stairs, which will totally mess up my plan so I cup his cheeks and disengage our mouths long enough to say, rather breathlessly, “Kitchen.”
Alex smirks. “Feel like a little counter fucking, eh, baby? Does that mean you bedazzled your beaver for me again? Wait. Don’t tell me. I want it to be a surprise.” Annnndddd . . . we’re back to the mouth fucking.
Alex is so focused on making out that he doesn’t notice the elaborate set up as he drops me on the counter. He yanks his shirt over his head and tosses it on the floor. Then he cups my boobs, covering the majority of the lettering decorating them and lowers his head. “Fuck, I missed you,” his voice is muffled by my cleavage.
“Alex.” It’s part moan, part protest. My nipples are super sensitive these days.
“Is it just me or are your boobs bigger?” He backs up a little and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Is this a new bra? What does your shirt say?”
“You’ll have to let go of my boobs so you can read it.” I grab hold of his wrists and encourage him to release them. He’s understandably reluctant.
He reads the words stamped across my chest, brow pulling together as his lips turn down. “MILF in Training?” He drags his eyes away from my chest and arches a brow.
Usually my husband is smart, but it’s obvious his hormones are in control right now and the head below the belt is doing all the thinking for him. I reach behind me, which happens to make my chest jut out, and feel around for the pregnancy test. I hold it up in front of his face and say, “Tada!”
“What do I need a pen for right now?”
I check to make sure that’s not what I’m holding. “It’s not a pen, Alex.” I shove it between my boobs since that’s where he’s looking.
He plucks it aggressively from my cleavage, slightly annoyed, and pries the bow off. It takes about two and a half seconds before he reacts. His eyes go wide and his mouth drops open when it finally registers that he’s holding a pregnancy test. With a blue plus sign. He brings it closer to his face, inspecting the little box where those lines intersect each other.
“Baby?” His gaze flips up to mine and then back down to the pregnancy test, then to my boobs and back to my face. “Vi? Does this mean what I think it means?”
“If you think it means that your super sperm have managed to swim the mighty beaver channel and you managed to knock me up, then the answer is yes.” I really wish I had my phone on me, because his expression is priceless and getting a video of this moment would’ve been epic. Too bad I’m already suffering from baby brain and all my best ideas happen when it’s too late to do anything about it.
“You’re pregnant?”
“According to that test I am.”
“This isn’t a joke, right? This isn’t like one of Sunny’s old tests and you’re just doing this to get me all excited?”
I make a face. “Uh, no Alex, I’m not touching something your sister has peed on.”
“How accurate are these?” He waves the pee stick around in the air.
“A hundred percent.”
“So you’re really pregnant?” He blinks four thousand times in a row, like he’s halfway between crying and freaking out with excitement.
“I’m really pregnant.” I watch his expression shift as the news finally, truly sets in.
Alex’s grin lights up the entire world. Man my husband is pretty. “We’re having a baby!”
I return his smile. “How do you feel about that, Alex?”
“I feel fuckin’ awesome! This is better than winning The Cup!” He fist pumps and follows it with, “Fuck yeah!”
He places a palm over my still mostly flat belly, eyes alight with excitement usually reserved for my bare boobs. “I’m gonna be a dad!”
“You are, and you’re going to be amazing.”
And I know without a doubt that’s true, because he puts a hundred and ten percent into everything he loves.
After I pee on the stick and discover that Alex’s super sperm have succeeded in impregnating me with what I’m expecting will be his superior athletic offspring, I spend the afternoon doing pretty much anything except work. I’d feel baddish, but I’m on salary and what I don’t finish here I’ll take care of at home.
Instead of managing my accounts I look up creative ways to tell Alex he’s going to be a dad. I find the perfect set of couples shirts and order them express so I have them for when he arrives home tomorrow afternoon. I follow that up by ordering several throw pillows, a cake with a special inscription and a personalized bottle of sparkling white grape juice.
At the end of the workday, in which I’ve completed little to no actual work, I head home with the intention of decorating the house for his arrival. I should have loads of time to accomplish this since his flight doesn’t land until early afternoon tomorrow.
Except I’m super tired after a long day of being excited and a little terrified that a human life is growing inside my body. So instead of decorating, Charlene and I order takeout and look at cute baby stuff online until I pass out on her shoulder. She’s kind enough to wake me up and forces me to go upstairs to my bed so I don’t wake up with a crick in my neck. Charlene is a great bestie. If I have a girl, I hope she has a bestie who’s as awesome as Char.
I sleep until noon the next day. I would’ve slept longer but the doorbell keeps ringing. I grab the sleeve of soda crackers from the nightstand—apparently it helps with morning sickness, which I don’t have yet, but is supposed to hit around the eight week mark—and get my ass out of bed so I can answer it.
It isn’t until I open the door that I remember I have a whole bunch of stuff arriving today and it appears as though I’ve slept through several deliveries based on the number of boxes at my front door. The current delivery is the cake.
The delivery guy has a hard time making eye contact, which is my fault since I’m wearing a t-shirt with no bra that says HANDS GO HERE over my chest. I sign for the cake, send delivery guy on his way and carry the box carefully into the kitchen. I cry when I open it, because it’s absolutely perfect. Also, I’m pregnant and everything makes me cry.
Aside from the text that reads “Super Sperm Gets the Job Done” it’s also decorated with a sperm wearing a cape. He’s swimming toward an egg with her arms outstretched and heart eyes. I’m aware eggs don’t have arms or eyes, but for the sake of the cake they do.
Once I get myself together I bring in all the other items from the front porch. Then I sit down and drink half a gallon of orange juice because I’m thirsty and eat most of a sleeve of soda crackers because they taste okay and I’m too lazy to make anything else. While I eat I open the rest of the boxes. The fake champagne label is inscribed with: “Congratulations Alex! You knocked me up!”
Once I’m done with breakfast I bring the throw pillows upstairs and arrange them on our bed, which really means I toss them in with the other seventy-five million pillows I’ve purchased since we got married. The new ones say We Made a Baby Here and MOMMA to be and DADDY to be.
It’s already one in the afternoon and Alex will be home soon, so I get in the shower, clean all the sleep off my body and prepare it for Alex’s arrival. If I’d had time I would’ve gotten my beaver bedazzled, but my new underpants will have to do. I did manage to get my nails done, though. They’re yellow with little tiny diapers and bottles drawn on them.
By the time I’m done in the shower I’m already wishing I could lie down and take a nap. I guess the whole pregnancy thing explains why I’m so tired all the time and why I’ve been falling asleep at eight o’clock every night.
I pull on a pair of leggings that Alex thinks are particularly flattering on my butt. Then I carefully wrangle my sensitive boobs into my new bra, I’m up another cup size, which sucks because now I’m at the point where I’ll have to get them all custom made and I’ve been told they’ll only get bigger as pregnancy goes on.
I pull the shirt over my head and frown at how tight it is across my chest. Also, there’s an insane amount of cleavage since it’s a V-neck. Hmm. I guess I should’ve gone up a size. Oh well, it’ll serve its purpose and I assume it won’t stay on long since Alex will likely want to celebrate his knocking me up with sexy times.
The sound of the alarm beeping downstairs signals that Alex is home. I cup my boobs and look at my reflection in the mirror. “Look alive, girls, we’re about to drop the baby bomb!” I do a shimmy shake, then cringe, because that hurts.
I rush downstairs—carefully though, because I’m not known for my coordination and the last thing I need is to fall. I grab my purse from the bottom of the stairs and root around until I find the pregnancy test, which I quickly stick a bow on and set on top of the cake box in the kitchen.
I take a deep breath and head down the hall with the goal of intercepting Alex. The door connected to the garage swings open and Alex steps into the front foyer. He drops his bag and scoops me up in his arms, lifting me off the floor and crushing me to his chest. “God, it’s so good to be home.”
He nuzzles into my neck, lips moving along my jaw to my mouth. I don’t even get a chance to tell him I missed him before his tongue is in my mouth and he’s wrapping my legs around his waist. I indulge in the mouth fucking, because Alex is a fantastic kisser. He kneads my ass as he carries me across the foyer. I realize he’s headed for the stairs, which will totally mess up my plan so I cup his cheeks and disengage our mouths long enough to say, rather breathlessly, “Kitchen.”
Alex smirks. “Feel like a little counter fucking, eh, baby? Does that mean you bedazzled your beaver for me again? Wait. Don’t tell me. I want it to be a surprise.” Annnndddd . . . we’re back to the mouth fucking.
Alex is so focused on making out that he doesn’t notice the elaborate set up as he drops me on the counter. He yanks his shirt over his head and tosses it on the floor. Then he cups my boobs, covering the majority of the lettering decorating them and lowers his head. “Fuck, I missed you,” his voice is muffled by my cleavage.
“Alex.” It’s part moan, part protest. My nipples are super sensitive these days.
“Is it just me or are your boobs bigger?” He backs up a little and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Is this a new bra? What does your shirt say?”
“You’ll have to let go of my boobs so you can read it.” I grab hold of his wrists and encourage him to release them. He’s understandably reluctant.
He reads the words stamped across my chest, brow pulling together as his lips turn down. “MILF in Training?” He drags his eyes away from my chest and arches a brow.
Usually my husband is smart, but it’s obvious his hormones are in control right now and the head below the belt is doing all the thinking for him. I reach behind me, which happens to make my chest jut out, and feel around for the pregnancy test. I hold it up in front of his face and say, “Tada!”
“What do I need a pen for right now?”
I check to make sure that’s not what I’m holding. “It’s not a pen, Alex.” I shove it between my boobs since that’s where he’s looking.
He plucks it aggressively from my cleavage, slightly annoyed, and pries the bow off. It takes about two and a half seconds before he reacts. His eyes go wide and his mouth drops open when it finally registers that he’s holding a pregnancy test. With a blue plus sign. He brings it closer to his face, inspecting the little box where those lines intersect each other.
“Baby?” His gaze flips up to mine and then back down to the pregnancy test, then to my boobs and back to my face. “Vi? Does this mean what I think it means?”
“If you think it means that your super sperm have managed to swim the mighty beaver channel and you managed to knock me up, then the answer is yes.” I really wish I had my phone on me, because his expression is priceless and getting a video of this moment would’ve been epic. Too bad I’m already suffering from baby brain and all my best ideas happen when it’s too late to do anything about it.
“You’re pregnant?”
“According to that test I am.”
“This isn’t a joke, right? This isn’t like one of Sunny’s old tests and you’re just doing this to get me all excited?”
I make a face. “Uh, no Alex, I’m not touching something your sister has peed on.”
“How accurate are these?” He waves the pee stick around in the air.
“A hundred percent.”
“So you’re really pregnant?” He blinks four thousand times in a row, like he’s halfway between crying and freaking out with excitement.
“I’m really pregnant.” I watch his expression shift as the news finally, truly sets in.
Alex’s grin lights up the entire world. Man my husband is pretty. “We’re having a baby!”
I return his smile. “How do you feel about that, Alex?”
“I feel fuckin’ awesome! This is better than winning The Cup!” He fist pumps and follows it with, “Fuck yeah!”
He places a palm over my still mostly flat belly, eyes alight with excitement usually reserved for my bare boobs. “I’m gonna be a dad!”
“You are, and you’re going to be amazing.”
And I know without a doubt that’s true, because he puts a hundred and ten percent into everything he loves.
