A/N: Red wrote this chapter because she rocks and Yellow is too lazy, okay so we're both lazy because it took us about a month to update anyone of our pathetically sad, sad stories.. But Red still rocks socks. And Yellow doesn't. Wow, I just took up an author's note, dissing crap. Let's just get to the story.

Disclaimer: This is a redundant disclaimer reiterating what everyone knows anyway, we don't own the freaking book. Have a nice day.

~*~ "MUUUUM!" Ginny yelled as she charged through the front door and slammed it behind her.
"Yes, darling?" Molly Weasley replied softly from the kitchen. It had been one week and already she was showing like it had been nine months. Molly had donned the maternity clothing now, which included a blue sweater with a fuzzy bear on it, a red and orange apron, and bright green sweat pants.
"Mum, I had the worst day!" Ginny flopped down in a wicker chair at the kitchen table. She took a drag of her cigarette and then pressed the butt in to the table. "All my dope and money from my crack sales was nicked off some weirdo in a ratty pinstripe cloak and lime green bowler cap." She grabbed an apple from the bowl on the table and took a bite out of it. "And then some bloody muggle bobby came and tried to arrest me," Ginny complained through a mouth full of apple, "So I had to get my pimp to take him down while I took his wallet. But the bloke didn't have any money! Ugh, it was awful."
"That's too bad," Molly replied distractedly, as she was cooking some unrecognisable stew. She turned around to look at her daughter. "Honey, you do know that's wax, don't you?" She pointed at the apple.
Ginny held up the apple. "So it is! Sorry, chewing 'bacco screws up your taste buds."
Molly nodded and continued cooking.
"Oh no!" Molly cried suddenly.
"What?"
"My water broke!"
"Holy crap, mum, it's only been one week!"
"Well, hon, as you know, my children mature quickly. Look at you! You're only fourteen and already you're whoring around town. Mommy didn't do that until she was twenty."
Ginny shook her head. "You are so creepy."
Molly ran to the door and grabbed her cloak and yelled, "Arthur dear, my water broke! We have to go!"
Arthur Weasley stomped down the stairs. "Already? That must be new record! Well, hurry now, let's go to St. Mungo's." Arthur began to fasten the clasp on his cloak.
Suddenly a very large and audible 'pop!' was heard. "No need dear, it just came out."
"WHAT!?" Ginny and Arthur exclaimed together.
Molly stood at the door holding a new-born wrapped in her cloak. "I think I'll name him Floyd."
"Floyd!?" they yelled again.
"Why Floyd?" questioned Arthur.
"Oh because I gave my first seven such boring names."
"Gee, thanks," Ginny muttered.
"Floyd is so mysterious! How about Floyd Thaddeus Arnold Weasley? I like that a lot."

~*~

"Honey!" Mr. Weasley called as he ran through the door, "I have great news!"
Molly meandered out of the kitchen, holding Floyd. "What is it, dear?"
"I may be getting a promotion!"
"Oh that's simply wonderful!" she exclaimed as she began feeding Floyd and preparing a soufflé.
"I know! There's just one thing, my boss said-uh, dear, could you not do those two things at the same time?" Arthur asked politely.
"Do what?"
"Breast feed while cooking dinner."
"Oh it's perfectly normal! The child has to eat to."
"But-"
"Shutup and get me my long sword, ho!"
"What?" queried a completely and utterly confused Mr. Weasley, who had no taste for fine literature.
"Get the spatula."
"Oh, yes right." Mr. Weasley carefully handed his wife the spatula as she scrapped the ingredients into a dish, set the oven on, leafed through a cookbook, and fed Floyd at the same time. Now that's multitasking. "Now, Molly, I may be getting a promotion. There's just one thing, I invited Mr. Bucket, my boss, over for dinner."
"Oh, well, he can come. What day?"
"Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow!?" roared Mrs. Weasley.
"Y-y-yes," he replied meekly.
"Do you have any idea what I have to do tomorrow!?" thundered Mrs. Weasley. "I have to clean the bathrooms, water and de-gnome the garden, drive the boys to Quidditch lessons, take little Ginny to dance class-"
"-Ginny takes dance?" he pondered aloud.
"Then I have to prune the bushes, cook breakfast, lunch, AND dinner, pick up the kids, take the cat to the vet-"
"-We have a cat?" Mr. Weasley interrupted in complete bewilderment.
Molly shrugged. "We did in the movie."
"Ah.."
"Now, anyway," she began again, still furious, "then I have to have tea O'Toole's, find a cure for cancer, create the space-time continuum, complete my degree in nuclear physics and psychology, finish writing my romance novel, go hand-gliding, finish my investigative piece on the infrastructure of Byzantine society, and I don't have a babysitter!" What remained of Arthur's hair was standing on ends from Molly's shouting. She was fuming, Arthur looked at his feet. Then he finally realised something: "You're writing a romance novel!?" "Yes.." she grumbled. He raised his eyebrow suggestively. "Am I in it?" "No."
"WHAT!?" he exclaimed. "But-but, I'm sex-goddy in that sex-goddy way! I-I.. I am the father of your child!"
"The last thing a romance novel needs is a fifty-year-old, balding, hallucinating man that is acts more pregnant than his wife," she said plainly and returned to her cooking.
Mr. Weasley frowned. He thought his bald-headedness was sexy. He kicked his foot on the ground and whined in a child-like voice, "Can Mr. Bucket still come over tomorrow?"
"No."
"But that's unfa-aaaair!" he wailed.
Mrs. Weasley wheeled around, pointing her spatula in Arthur's face and splattering some sauce onto him. "No! You know what's unfair? I do all the work and I don't get a bloody knut for it!" She paused. "Oh, that would be a great line for my novel.."
"Yeah, well-" Mr. Weasley struggled to think of a comeback, "Well I do make the money, so I make the decisions! Mr. Bucket IS coming over tomorrow and you WILL cook dinner, woman!"
Mr. Weasley ducked just in time for the frying pan.