Page 114 of The Goal

“I think that’s talk show host, not lawyer.” She reaches out to glide her hand across my stomach. “How’s our baby today?”

“Sleeping.”

“I want to feel her kick. Wake her up.”

Hope has baby fever. Every time I see her, she wants to rub my belly like I’m the lucky Buddha statue at a Chinese restaurant. Unfortunately for Hope, the baby and I are not on the same schedule. When I’m moving around, she’s sleeping. The moment I get into bed, she decides to wake up. Dr. Laura told me it was because my movement lulls the baby tosleep. That’s all well and good, but it doesn’t help me get a good night’s sleep, does it?

“How am I supposed to do that? Jumping jacks?”

“Would that make the baby fall out? Like if you were near your due date, could you shake shake shake it out?” Carin wriggles her arms like she’s a member of Taylor Swift’s dance squad.

I stare at her. “Please tell me that whatever science field you end up studying in grad school, it won’t be important.”

Carin flips me off and shimmies her way across the room before bending down to pick up one of the bags we filled at Goodwill. She dumps them on the floor and starts sorting the whites from the colors. We agreed at the store that everything had to be washed in the hottest water possible given the smell of some of the items.

“Did you know that when the baby starts moving that it’s called the quickening?” Hope says.

I snicker. “So she’s going to burst out of my stomach with a sword declaring there can be only one?”

“Possibly. Women have died in childbirth, right? The baby is essentially a parasite. It lives off your nutrients, saps your energy.” She taps the bottom of a hanger against her lip. “So yeah, I think theHighlandermotto could fit.”

Carin and I look at her in horror. “Hopeless, you can shut up any time now,” Carin orders.

“I was just saying, from a medical standpoint, it’s a possible theory. Not here, but maybe in other less developed nations.” She reaches over and pats my belly. “Don’t worry. You’re safe. You should’ve gotten more maternity clothes,” she says, moving on to another topic while I’m still digesting that my baby is a parasite.

I shake my head. “No. That stuff was hideous. I already look like a boat. I didn’t need to look like an ugly one.”

“I think if I were pregnant, I’d wear muumuus or housecoats like Lucille Ball,” Carin muses.

“Are those even a thing?” Hope asks.

“They should be.”

I nod in agreement because hell yeah, I’d wear something like that over the awful jeans and polyester gear and their white expandable waistpouches. I know I’m going to appreciate those in a few weeks, but right now I’m not looking forward to getting bigger.

“I tried to bend over and touch my toes this morning,” I tell the girls. “I tipped over, hit my head on the desk, and then had to call for Nana to get up. I’m literally the size of an Oompa Loompa.”

“You’re the most beautiful Oompa Loompa in the world,” Hope declares.

“But she’s not orange.”

“Oompa Loompas were orange?” I try to conjure up a mental picture of them but can only recall their white overalls.

Carin purses her lips. “Were they supposed to be candies? Like orange slices? Or maybe candy corn?”

“They were supposed to be giant nuts or something to attract squirrels,” Hope informs us.

“No way,” we both say at once.

“Yes way. My brother told me when I was like ten. I think he read it on the back of a Laffy Taffy. I was terrified of squirrels for years afterwards.”

“Shit. Learn something new every day.” I push my body upright, a task that takes a certain amount of upper body strength these days, and toddle over to inspect the crib.

“I don’t believe you,” Carin tells Hope. “The movie is about candy. It’s calledWilly Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Since when are squirrels candies? I can buy into a bunny because, you know, the chocolate Easter bunnies, but not a squirrel.”

“Look it up, Careful. I’m right.”

“You’re ruining my childhood.” Carin turns to me. “Don’t do this to your daughter.”

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