Thank you so much for your reviews guys! Keep them coming! They make my day, everytime!

In this chap, Summers Dad will make a small appearance (more of him later), I changed him a little bit up. Hope I didn't took to many liberties! ;)

I hope the characterization is better of Summer, this time. I do my best!

Enjoy!

I still don't own anything...

Third month

Oh my! Oh my! Oh my!

I'm still sick. I could puke right away. But I can't have anything of the sundae inside me. I can tell by the contents of the water closet from last night.

And I got the feeling that the alarm isn't working. It's showing 8:00 pm., but I feel like three o'clock in the morning. I just fell asleep two minutes ago.

Cohen shout's out of the bathroom that the alarm is alright and I have to get up now if I wanna be in time for work.

"I can't!"

"Come on, Sum. It's already a quarter past eight. You know Bull's going to freak out if you're late."

"I can't!"

"What's going on?"

"I just can't!"

"What's that supposed to mean? You have to. Didn't you say you have this really important editors-meeting today?"

"I'm still sick."

"Come on. I'll get you a cup of tea. You will feel better soon."

"I don't want to get up."

"Then stay here. I'll bring it to you."

Only two seconds I'm lying next to Cohen's feet in the bathroom and throw up my not even eaten breakfast.

Good morning.

Amazing, what kind of stuff you can find in an empty stomach.

I'm sitting on a lovely, by Seth, set up breakfast table. I really wanna eat, even if my stomach is still on the roller coaster.

Cohen looks worried in my direction and bites then with pleasure into his bagle. Unbelievable. That guy is cruel. Without mercy.

I'm going for peach-yogurt. Ew! That smells like feet. I bet it's gone bad. I let Cohen try it first.

Nope. It's okay according to him, well maybe he wants to get rid of me. There's no way I'm eating that!

Okay. What else do we got?

Let's start with some tea, shall we? I really try it. But that tea smells like bullion. Tea smells like bullion?

Cohen really wants to get rid of me.

I'm looking at him. He probably has some younger, prettier, taller, blond- not knocked up girlfriend and all he has to do now is get me out of the way.

He shakes his head in disbelieve and mumbles something about hormones. He's probably not talking about his.

Now I know what I want. A peanut butter sandwich. I can basically see it already.

"I want peanut butter!"

Cohen probably thinks now that I lost it completely, as I crawl around, with nothing on but bra and panties, on the kitchen floor to look for peanut butter in the lower shelves. I once saw a glass somewhere. Ah. Here right behind the cleaning material. I knew it.

Happy I bite into the sandwich just to spit it out again, immediately.

Oh my god! Eww! That tasted all moldy. I'm looking at the glass.

That one was already bad twenty years ago. I don't even think that the company, which produced that, still exist.

Looks like Cohen will have to change his shirt.

Why should only I suffer. It's his child too!

Two hours and a half a -not puked out -cracker later, I arrive for my meeting just in time. I'm lucky. Bull just looks at me crabby and growls quietly. But I don't care. There's only one thing I care for right now: What's for lunch?

Lunch fell out. I'm still sick. Let's hope for tomorrow.

The next day, I'm still sick.

Same thing two days later.

The day after that, I'm really sick.

Today I don't feel sick. I feel like dying any second.

I living in my very own My stomach wants to leave my body - nightmare. I don't know who made up the phrase "morning-sickness". Probably some man who wanted to bring the whole thing down.

As far as it concerns me: I'm sick in the morning,noon, afternoon, evening and night. 24/7.

Right now I'm reading some weird book about pregnancy. "Small discomforts treat naturally". Grumble. The chick who wrote that was probably never pregnant herself.

I take a look at the cover. It was written my some guy. It's says you have to eat sunflower stones. Of course! Even the idea of ... eww!

I don't know how women get fat at all during pregnancy. If I keep going this way, in six months I will look like Kate Moss shoplifting a melon.

In my desperation I called my doctor. She told me to puke five times a day would be completely normal. Comforting. Only if I throw up more often I need to get to a hospital. Comforting, that thought. Really.

I catch myself counting for how long I could still have an abortion. I feel bad immediately. My poor baby. I have to get to the next church and light a candle or something, so it may forgive me.

My baby! The dark stain from three weeks ago got arms and legs. It almost looks like a real baby. I admit, you need some fantasy to see that (okay a lot). Or the loving sight of a mother.

Still: It's a miracle. Inside of me.

I'm sitting on my favorite chair (argh!) and looking on the screen next to me. And in the middle of the usual stain there's another stain flaring around. That's the heartbeat. I start crying right away. I will have baby. Me! I'm still a child myself in some way and now I have that little thing inside me and haven't even realized it really.

I don't care if I feel sick for the rest of my life.

"Oh my god!"

"Oh my god!"

"Oh my Gooood!"

"OH GOOOOOD!"

I know it's kind of embarrassing but in the moment of my climax I always scream for God. I just can't break that habit. Fortunately most men like to be titled that way - and the old guy up there doesn't seem to bother.

Exhausted and sweaty I'm rolling myself of Cohen. It's wonderful to be pregnant. Just wonderful. Incredible wonderful. I can truly say that I'm having the best orgasms of my life. I read it's something about the whole blood flowing through my pelvis.

Well Cohen adds a little too.

Happily sighting I'm cuddling onto him.

"That was nice."

"Uh huh..."

He doesn't sound so enthusiastic.

"Just awesome."

"Good."

Is it criticism swinging in his voice?

"I'm sorry. The next time I think about you again, but now I'm just tired", with that I'm turning around and already half asleep.

He sights and turns around. I guess he isn't so happy with our little arrangement.

It's two o'clock and I'm just finished my burrito. This child is going to be Mexican. Clearly. Even if all the books say crackers and tea would be the best right now, all that works for me is Mexican and really spicy.

On my way back I stopped at the children's department even if I had to be in the office soon.

This is unknown location. I've never been here.

And even now I'm only looking with three feet safety margin.

So cute. So cute. So cuuuuteeee!

But I'm only ten weeks along. I don't wanna jinx it. I'm superstitious.

I leave the store without buying anything. I think that was the first time that happened.

"I'm fat."

"You're pregnant."

"I'm fat."

"Pregnant."

"... but I look fat."

"You look pregnant."

"I look fat... if you look pregnant you don't have that roll around your waist. You've got a nice round belly and everybody knows that you didn't just eat to much.

"But everybody knows you screwed to much then."

That's true.

Still I look kind of fat - the first thing to say goodbye to, is the waistline.

I'm standing in front of the mirror and inspect myself. Cohen's working on some drawings meanwhile.

"You don't give a shit how I and your child look like."

"You don't look fat", he's not even looking up.

"Honestly?"

He stops drawing and looks at me.

"Did you tell him yet?"

Nice change of subject. That's where the son of the lawyer comes out again.

He smirks and starts to draw again.

I give him my new "I'm your pregnant wifey - please protect me"-look.

"Why can't you tell him?"

"Because he's going to kill me for knocking up his little daughter. You have to do it. He's your father."

I'm biting my lip. I know he's right.

It's just that my dad is like over-protective. He's gonna drive me crazy and stock me up with all kinds of vitamins and smart tips..

He's like the over-dad. Even with him moving to Chicago he still calls me at least every other day.

Cohen has an easy laugh at. His parents are the perfect parents. Just like out of some TV-show. In the last fifteen years there isn't a holiday the whole family didn't spend together.

I refused to spend any holiday with my father since he married some girl (the third marriage) my age.

I'm going for the telephone fearless.

"Roberts... may I help you."

"Shit!" The step monster III. (He divorced the Julie like ten years ago.)

"Excuse me?"

"Oh... it's Summer. May I speak to my father please?"

"Sure, a sec."

I hear the clicking of Shirley's shoes on the floor.

"Hi honey. I didn't expect you to call. We haven't talked quiet a while."

"Dad... we spoke the day before yesterday."(When I hadn't the nerve to tell him anything.)

"Yeah, right. You telling me your busy and hanging up doesn't count as conversation."

"I have to work from time to time, Dad."

"You call it work to make up stories about strangers."

"It's not like I wouldn't prefer writing for Times."

"Then why don't you?"

I'm sighting: "It's not that simple."

"You've always had a lack of motivation."

"I do not! Besides, I kinda like my job."

"You're just hanging around... why did I even let you get those piano lessons?"

"Dad, please. What's that about?"

"... ballet you gave up after a half an year too..."

"Dad..."

"... all of that wouldn't have happened if your mother wouldn't have left..."

"Dad..."

"... God knows I've tried to bring you further..."

"DAD!", I'm screaming into the telephone to shut him up. "Seth and me would like to meet you for dinner, some time. We have news. Will you be in town, any time soon?"

We're meeting in three weeks. He says he can't make it sooner. He and his moll are going onto some cruise.

Cohen and I. (Well actually it where I and Cohen, because he takes that all very easy - who wonders? It's not his belly.)

Anyway. I and Cohen decided that we wanna know it detailed now.

And now I'm under ultrasound in some some special doctors office. The ultrasound of my doctor looks compared to the one they have here like a bike next to a beamer. Above me there's this huge screen - I'm almost feeling like I'm in the I-Max.

The little stain has become a real baby. It has arms, legs and a little snub nose.

"It" floats in my uterus like an little astronaut in space.

The umbilical cord looks like the oxygen connection to the mother ship. And for a second I think it's waving at me.

Cohen next to me wipes off some tears secretly. That's better than Hollywood and Super bowl combined.

And then I see the biopsy needle.

At least a feet long and pretty spiky. Suddenly I decide that I can live with a slight increased risk of handicap. That thing isn't coming near my little astronaut. Why don't they stick somebody else? And that without anesthesia. What sense!

I don't know if I really want Cohen with me when I'm giving birth. We're sitting in our favorite diner and I need a donut right now - for strengthening. Cohen's face is still green and he refused food for the last two hours.

He says I was incredible brave when the doctor rammed the needle into my pelvis.

Well who wouldn't have been if he sees right at that moment how the needle passes my baby closely, and even one little move can mean death.

My child has a fearless mother. But I will have to rethink the whole extraneous sounding analysis in the future.

Sorry about the spelling and grammar again. I feel like it's getting worse with every chapter! lol

Review please! Thanks in advance!