Chapter Thirty-Five: Six Months

~Carmelita~

Ugh, this damn back is killing me again! This is the heaviest I have been my entire life so far… I just need to sit.

Now let's see; the kitchen, living rooms, hallway, bathrooms, dining room, spare room, and my room are finished. Each is filled with most of my old furniture and my room still has its new color of deep dark purple paint from yesterday. Murray, Sly and Isabella helped a lot with the furniture. Unfortunately my fiancé wouldn't let me haul one thing in the house. I may be six months but that doesn't mean I can't do anything. That doesn't matter, this weekend he's going to shop for the other furniture we picked out.

Six months and I'm just starting to get used to it; getting used to not doing anything, resting more hours in a day than I have my entire life, and not feeling like I can do as much as I used to. I just need a drink right now, but it looks like that option is scratched off. Another benefit. Just three more months.

It felt like hours in the baby's room, which Sly and I are still working on. Tomorrow I'll go shopping for baby stuff, instead of fighting crime. It's getting worse out there! Fewer uprisings, murders, and attacks, but more things reported stolen, more than half of Europe's stock markets have crashed, and the rich people go from wealthy to broke in just seconds. Every day the number increases in six continents. I know it's not the Cooper gang, because recently Sly's been staying back here with me. If only I was in my original place in Interpol, this mystery would be further into investigation; maybe even solved by now. But nope, I'm stuck being the damn phone lady.

Sly turns to look at me. His brown eyes smile at me with a tired expression. He finally finished the first side of the wall. I want to giggle at some of the forest-green paint hiding in his fur but at the same time I can't. A groan -so sexy- leaves his warm throat and I find him leaning on the adjacent wall. "You know, we could always go the doctors to see what gender our baby is," He doesn't even have to finish his sentence before I roll my eyes. How many times will I hear this from him? "So we can get a better color for him or her."

Tension builds between my eyebrows, but his vacant face doesn't budge. Sly continues with a laugh. "I don't like the color green."

"Well maybe our child does."

"I honestly doubt it," he crosses his arms with that smirk. I hate it when he smirks like that. That should be illegal. He's illegal. "What if she's a girl? I bet our adorable little girl would prefer the color pink or lavender. Not green."

Can he even hear himself? Honestly, it's just a color. Maybe this will convince him. "Do you feel like painting that wall again with the new color? Including the rest of these walls?" Just watching him do most of the painting was exhausting. Everything is exhausting to me now, and I hate it. There's that wretched smirk again. Will he ever just give up, or does everything have to be bribery to him? Oh why did I even ask that question; he's a thief! A master at cunning persuasion, quiet movements, and stealing hearts. No matter how long I have been with him, I will always see him as a criminal. My criminal. Snap out of it! THAT SMIRK NEEDS TO GO.

"Well, if it means knowing the gender of our little thief, then yes. Of course."

He's seriously pushing my buttons. I have nothing left to say, again. Time to just repeat my words. "Well, I've said this before. I want the gender to be a surprise."

His face drops. He thought he could win this time? Pity. "Just like the name?" That tone; why am I so mad at everything today! I can't do this; he doesn't need me lashing at him again. Neither does… this baby.

My poor knees pick up the heavy body above them. "Just paint some more I guess." That sounded cold. Am I taking this too far? Ugh I don't care anymore; my taste buds are craving another odd combination. "I'm getting something to eat."

What is wrong with me? It's as if I haven't been happy in months. I'm sick of this fatigue, these negative mood swings, visiting the bathroom every half hour, but the only person who gets sick of me eating a peanut-butter pickle sandwich with orange juice is Sly. That actually sounds so good right now.

It's feels like a workout down the stairs but so worth it! What will I have with the sandwich? Maybe some salt and vinegar chips crushed in the bread! Ooh and maybe some cheddar cheese. Make it melted! Eh, I'm not feeling that melted part. I hope we have all that stuff. My stomach is yearning for some food. Or is it this child of mine? Most likely.

It hurts not to eat this entire peanut butter container just sitting here right in front of me. Teasing me. A spoonful won't hurt, right? Just make the sandwich. My trembling fingers open the fridge door weakly. This is just ridiculous, it's not like I haven't eaten in a week yet my body acts like it! I didn't even open the dill pickle jar and I can already smell it's marvelous… salty… aroma. A roaring vibration shakes my stomach violently, as if a giant tripped and fell inside. Little one, will you be patient?!

Next comes out the cheddar cheese block and orange juice. I can't wait for this beauty to be made! Spread the peanut butter on both bread slices, cut three dill pickles in half and have three on each side, shred cheese on them, crumble salt and vinegar chips on them and finally pour the orange juice in a cup! Perfect! Bon Appetite!

The first bite comes and I could feel my little one kick around. I'm in such a good mood. See, this is what I mean by mood swings. Except the happiness doesn't come often. Why is that?

I take my food to the dinner table. Why? Don't most women enjoy their pregnancies? I have nothing against my child, there is no chance! I love my little one already, but why do I worry?

My hand rubs the large bubble accompanying my stomach. It's more round now, before it was like a triangle pointing out of my abdominal area. Yes it's still on the pointy side, but more round. Almost like a slanted oval. Runnin' out of room, my little crime-fighter? Or… will you be a thief instead? Is that what your future is, what is must be, what is expected of you? I don't want my child to get mixed up into some trouble. I could make a long list of "Close Death Experiences" involving Sly. No, my child deserves an education and great self-defense before even hearing a word of thievery. This will definitely be something Sly and I will fight over.

But then again, there's Murray that could easily make a fantastic personal trainer. Bentley could be a better professor than those teachers at school combined. Isabella will be there for well, pretty much anything involving art. A booster to the child's creativity won't hurt one bit! It does seem nice to home school the child, but I still don't like one thing- the master thief. A master thief… as a father.

There's this problem, having to choose between crime or law enforcement. This all sounds so complicated. Should I just give up my job to have my baby more involved with the Cooper gang? No… I love this career. But I love my child more. What would my dad say if he was here? He's the one who obviously got me into law-enforcement. Could my ambition towards the job simply be my father's dream drilled into me? This baby could also be taken away from his or her father. No, I won't even consider than an option! Besides, Sly will find a way to get his kid back. This child is ours. Ours. Mine and his. It has to work.

It's been months of this constant thought. A smart person would simply talk to her partner about it. I'll give myself a little more time. Until then, helping Sly with the house seems better than some stupid talk. It's the least I can do anyway. According to other people, it's the most I can too.

Another kick. Almost little one. Soon, and you'll be here.

*I know, short chapter. It's necessary though. I want this book to be done! It's been over a year. I'm trying so hard not to rush (However when this and the next chapter were planned out, they were meant to be small.) Anyways, next chapter is coming soon! (For it will also be short)*