A/N: So this is the completed story that I wrote at a summer creative writing camp that I just went to! It started as an exercise where we had to write in the character of a 27 year old 8 month pregnant woman. I really liked mine so I turned it into a story. I actually ended up taking a part at the beginning out, so I hope its still ok! Enjoy and please review! Thanks!

When I found out that I was pregnant, the first thing that I did was to renew my account at the library so I could check out all the books a young mother could ask for.

At first it was rather disconcerting to discover all the health precautions one must take when pregnant. The hard cover books ornately covered with happy and healthy bulbous pregnant women instructed me to limit my diet, and stay away from caffeine and excess amounts of sugar. Countless nights I found myself ravenous for Neapolitan ice cream and cans of Diet Pepsi, but I resisted. After I adjusted to the diet; I was on my way, reading every parenting or baby magazine I could get a hold of. By the time I was done reading five months worth of issues from ten different magazines, I felt I knew everything. “The Advantages of Water Births over Traditional Bed Side,” “Crib and Rocking Chair Safety,” “The Importance of Exposing Your Unborn Baby to Classical Music,” “Health and Nutrition of the First Time Mom,” and of course “The Easy Steps to Coping with Labor Pains”. Those were the days. When my maternity clothes were just the maternity version of present fashion and actually kept my whole stomach covered, not just from the belly button up, and when Charlie and I wouldn’t get interrupted by kicking and hiccups. Then, being pregnant was just like a wonderful, simple blessing.

Now I’m eight and a half months along. It’s almost over. Charlie had to take an early flight to San Diego this morning on business for the law firm he works for. He tried to comfort me on his way out the door.

“Jen, it’s going to be fine. Don’t worry. You still have a few weeks to go, but if you feel anything at all, remember, I can get on the next flight home and be here in an hour.” He kissed me in reassurance.

The fact that my husband is out of town doesn’t stop me from being hungry and consuming the better contents of the fridge, so I have to go to the grocery store. As I start the car, I know that the drive to the store is only about ten minutes, but when my bulging stomach holding a kicking and cramped baby, is pressed against the steering wheel, it feels a lot longer. I can already feel my bladder ready to burst with the baby pressing on it. Didn’t I just go?

I have to maneuver myself out of the front seat; my belly is the first thing to stick out of the open door, then comes the rest of me. I push myself out, one hand clamped to the small of my back, the other under the bulge, supporting the baby. I always have a sudden worry that my stomach might detach itself from the rest of me, too heavy for my body to hold.

I never thought I would get this big; mom and the other mothers of acquaintance, who have flocked around me these past six months, petting my belly, told me I would, but I didn’t believe them. In my mind pregnancy was a misconstrued fantasy of glamour, love, and togetherness like no other. Boy was I was wrong.

Not to say that I don’t want this baby, nothing of the sort, I want this baby like a sailboat wants the sea, but I want her now.

I feel like I’m waddling up the aisles with my cart. A woman looks over with a disconcerted stare as if to say, “You’re too pregnant, it frightens me to watch you, go home before your water breaks, or worse, you pop.” This look nearly drives me to tears, but I control myself.

Halfway between the canned foods and paper products aisle I feel eyes on my back once again. But this time, as I turn around, the look on the face of the balding man with a head of lettuce in his basket, is of anger. I sense that the anger is not towards me but possibly at the idea that I’m here swelled and exhausted, completing tasks that are strenuous on a pregnant woman when I could be at home with my feet propped on the sofa. He seems to wonder why the man who did this to me isn’t instead the one here with the basket and shopping list. I try to ignore this look, pretending to focus on the interesting new Pledge tile cleaner. Charlie is at work and even though I would much rather he be the one standing here pretending to look at cleaning products with a child growing inside of him, he can’t, and I understand that.

But what if he’s always at work? What if he never comes home and leaves me with this tiny baby? I won’t know how to take care of; the books can’t show me everything. There isn’t a magazine article or book chapter that will tell me what to do when my husband is out of town and I go into labor. There is too much to learn and not enough time. The crib we ordered months ago still hasn’t arrived and diaper changing is still a mystery to me. The thoughts run at me like I am the matador with the red scarf, pushing me further and further into a state of absolute distress. I can’t take care of a baby, what were we thinking, what was I thinking, what if…?

By the time I’ve returned from the grocery, the sky outside turns a yellowish hue as I sit down at the breakfast table, glad the chair I’m in is sturdy enough to hold me. In the past week I’ve felt like I’ve been in a dream state. I can’t walk too much because with each step I feel like I’m falling over forward, so I sit and wait, and about every fifteen minutes I go to the bathroom. I’m almost glad that Charlie is in San Diego so he doesn’t have to see me like this, a beached whale on her bed of sand.

The wind picks up, carrying with it the smell of the dried creosote leaves, the smell of rain. Everything is waiting for it, even the many armed saguaros, waiting in silence.

Like most rains in Tucson, the monsoons creep up on you, there are clues like the creosote but you can never tell if they will carry through. I waddle; nearly roll outside, to appease my senses, hoping for the rain.

And then the clouds form, billowing pillows of black and grey. The rumble of thunder comes from behind the mountains, and I feel it, the drizzle as if Mother

Nature is teasing; the drizzle turns to huge spaced out drops. I was always told that the bigger the drops, the shorter the rain. These are giant drops. But Mother Nature decides not to taunt me today, maybe Tucson deserves enough, the giant drops subside, the growling thunder stops, and then it all comes. The rain pours down like oceans being emptied from the sky, drenching me, making my last fitting maternity shirt cling to my belly which seems even further outstretched, trying to get its share of the rain. I smile; I guess the weather man from December was right. The rain envelops the city quickly changing the once dusty streets to the canals of Venice. Finally, giving the thirsty desert a long and satisfying drink.

And as I stand here, I realize that the rain isn’t the only thing making me wet.

I glance at the phone, but I know that this baby is not going to wait. Then I make my first decision of motherhood and grab the car keys.

The doctor said mine was one of the fastest deliveries she had ever seen. If I had called and waited, the baby would’ve arrived before the ambulances did.

They say that it’s lucky if it rains on your wedding day, I’ve decided that this can apply to the day you give birth as well. Charlie isn’t here, but that’s ok; he will be soon. As I hold my beautiful baby girl, who I’ve named Kendra, meaning water baby, I realize that the lessons of motherhood will come. Just at the right moments. Just like the rain.