Page 1 of Ho Ho Oh No

Chapter 1

Behold! The gift

SUE

If I had a nickel for every time I’ve flung poop on my husband, I’d have ten cents. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice.

What’s even more unsettling? I was braless with coffee breath both times. Today, it’s decaf, which should be a crime against nature. Not as bad as peach leggings... let’s not go there. I’ve got bigger problems than coffee-induced halitosis and fashion atrocities.

Like the uncharacteristically pouty look on Leo’s ruggedly handsome face.

“Shit, angel. Again?” Leo’s smile beams through his freshly trimmed beard once he catches his unintentional poop pun. “What am I going to wear to the party now?”

I fight off a roll of my eyes, secretly glad he can’t wear the hideous eyesore of a sweater that his sister forced upon him. The dang thing has actual gold foil-wrapped gift boxes and jingle bells sewn into it, so Leo crinkles and chimes with his every step. It’s a sensory nightmare for me. Sammy’s a real shithead sometimes. But we love her anyway.

You’re probably wondering how we got into this situation.Again. Allow me to get you up to speed.

Today’s the first annual Redleg Family Holiday Bash, hence the nightmare sweater. It seems Leo didn’t hear me when I said I was taking the dog outside to relieve himself. He’s a bit jumpy these days, given the wholemafia-out-to-get-usthing.

For clarity, Leo’s jumpy, not the dog.

By the way, the dog isn’t ours. He’s Tomer and Lettie’s new dog, Snuggles. Normally, he stays at Redleg HQ with them, but since Leo and I were going home for our two-day respite, I figured Snuggles could use time away from HQ and some extra training. As an added perk, he’s rather intimidating and provides another layer of security for us on top of the off-duty cops stationed in our driveway this weekend.

Anyway. Back to the point. So Leo dashed outside, racing around the house and yelling my name. And not in the moaning way he sometimes does when he’s giving me the old pickle tickle. As for me, I had just finished picking up Snuggles’s dung with the little baggie. Leo’s frantic screaming distracted me, and I suppose I forgot to tie off the bag en route to the trash can. Said can must have fallen over last night in that bad thunderstorm, so I was bending over to pick it up as Leo came around the corner of the house. When he caught sight of me bending down to pick up the trash can, he ran over to lift it.

Heaven forbid his pregnant angel pick up an empty trash can. Eye roll.

He smiled at me with his damn panty-melting grin as I was tossing the bag in, thus distracting me from my task. We were gazing at each other like smitten fools when he closed the lid of the can. That’s when we had anotherbrown out.

It would seem that in our gaga state—not the fantastic lady singer—we failed to notice that the bag of poop was precariously perched on the rim of the can, hanging with the opening facing outward. So when the trash can lid came down, it squeezedthe bag, creating projectile diarrhea. And poor Leo’s sweater abomination was a casualty.

And now you’re all caught up. You good?

Excellent.

Once Leo and I make it back inside the house, I offer, “Let me help you get that off so it doesn’t smear your handsome face.”

He shakes his head. “I got it, angel. You should jump in the shower and start getting ready.”

Cringing, I inhale through my gritted teeth. “No offense, but if you accidentally get dog shite on your face, I won’t be able to kiss you ever again. That isn’t the kind of thing our marriage can bounce back from.”

Am I kidding?

I’d like to say yes because the idea of being without him is abhorrent. In fact, I’d rather walk on a muddy carpet in wet socks than go without my sexy bearded giant for a day. But I seriously doubt I could ever kiss him again if I sawandsmelled dog shit on his face. Does a soap exist that’s strong enough to clean him and wipe away the image from my mind? Considering I’m still frightened of peach leggings after an incident at a random Starbucks three years ago, the outlook isn’t favorable.

Conceding to let me assist, Leo takes a step closer to me. “Grab the middle to pull it away from my face, and I’ll lift it straight up and over my head.”

“Got it.” I sink my hands into the scratchy fabric a few inches away from the offending splatter.

As he starts to lift, it gets a little too close to his beard, so I stop him. “Hold on.Hold on. Go slower. It was folding inward, and we can’t let it do that, or our baby will grow up fatherless because I’ll flee the state in horror.” I snicker as I finish my rant.

Well, at leastsomelevity is returning to my frazzled brain.For now.

I’ve been a hot mess recently. Sometimesliterallyhot,thanks to the hormonal fluctuations of pregnancy. The lack of caffeine hasn’t helped my autism and anxiety either.

Before getting pregnant, I’d finally found the right balance of beloved bean nectar, ADHD meds, and orgasms to keep me in a productive state without making my anxiety spike. Everything was in a delicate balance. Sadly, while I’m making a human, I can no longer have the medsorthe amount of caffeine I need. Occasionally, I can’t even climax. Needless to say, I’m a bit of a wreck these days.

Behold the joys of my pregnancy!

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