Hi there to all of you still following. I know it has been a super long time since I last updated. However, life happens, shit happens, and I completely lost my mojo with regard to any related to writing. I lost my job in October 2018 which wasn't the worst thing in the world. Decided to open a marketing agency with a friend, so that is what has kept me so busy. I've had two relatives die, one just at the beginning of this month. So, yeah, life has been a bit of a shit show.

I will finish this story as well as my other one, so don't worry if you don't see another update for a bit. A big huge thank you to all that have sent me messages inquiring about the story and me. I appreciate that you are invested enough to reach out. This is a much smaller chapter but I was feeling it to a point today, so I wanted to get it out there and move on to the next chapter.

Chapter 32

APOV

Hey everyone, I know it's been a while since you've heard from me, but, in my defense, I've been quite busy baking three tiny humans. Let's recap - when you last heard from me Christian and I had just returned from our anniversary vacay, found I was pregnant…with triplets, Harper and Keegan got engaged, found out the sex of our babies and…and…shit, I can't remember. Fuck this pregnancy brain!

Whoever said that being pregnant was an enjoyable life experience can kiss my fat ass. I mean literally…it's a fat ass. Although I can't see them anymore, my feet look like Tootsie Rolls, my ankles are cankles, I need to pee every five fucking minutes, and Christian has had to sleep in the other room plenty because of the retched smells emanating from said fat ass.

No one prepared me for what I've gone through hauling around the Grey heirs. It is no easy feat, and I am exhausted all day, every day.

Until the middle of my second trimester, my pregnancy hasn't been so bad. However, as I get closer to 34 weeks, the worse my whole body feels. I haven't seen my cave of wonder for months; I need help getting out of the bed, out of a chair, out of the car, and let's not even bring up sex. I was super horny and wanted to live on Christian's dick until halfway through my second trimester, but Christian's womb broom hasn't seen much action for the past few months. He's been a real trooper about it and gets regular blow jobs. However, after the last time we got it on, and the Big O was on vacation, that was it for me. My sex drive flew the honey pot, and I have zero interest in it either.

I stopped working right after my second trimester began, especially after I fell asleep in not just one meeting but two meetings… on the same day. The second meeting was a doozy because I nodded off, Ros said my name a few times, and when I didn't answer, she yelled my name. Hearing a loud noise, I startled myself and pushed away from the table, hitting the wall, started laughing uncontrollably, and then proceeded to pee my pants. Andrea called Christian out of a meeting because I was a heap of tears on the floor of the conference room. Christian ran to my office and grabbed a dress I kept in the closet so I could change before stepping out of the conference room. He called it a day and brought me home. That was not the first time that happened either.

Christian, of course, was over the moon at my decision when I told him on the drive home. He knows how much I love working, but one can only be so strong before finally raising the white flag. I'm at week 32 and spend most of my days in the horizontal position now, and not in a fun way. When I am up and about, I'm either eating or in the nursery making sure it is ready for when the babies will come home. We know they won't go home right away, considering they'll be small, but I still want it to be perfect for them. Mom and Grace say I'm nesting. Maybe so, but I'm bored shitless and need something to keep me occupied, or I'll find myself in some sort of trouble.

There's a delicious smell emanating from the kitchen, so I waddle my ass there and see Gail has started dinner, although I don't see her in the kitchen. I can't stop myself from dipping a spoon in the chocolate cake batter. My cravings have not let up, and they're not one or two crazy things, it's everything. I cannot seem to get enough sweets, then I need something salty, then sweet again, then sour, then sweet again. I drive everyone bat shit crazy. At the beginning of my pregnancy, Christian was sent out in the late evening plenty because of my cravings. Christian had to go to Arizona for two days, and I begged Harper to bring me some Doritos at one in the morning so I could crunch them up on my mint chip ice cream.

Hearing the garage door close, I know the sex on legs father of my spawn has arrived home.

"Hi babe, you're home early," I mumble, turning toward him with a mouth full of batter. All I get in return is howling laughter.

"Anastasia, what have you been doing? Do you realize you have chocolate cake batter all over? Where's Gail anyway? She needs to be supervising you around sweets," he chuckles.

Everyone jokes that I need supervision because I tend to get a bit overzealous with food.

"Well…it's not my fault, the babies wanted chocolate. So, I thought one spoonful would satisfy them."

Christian is holding up the bowl…the empty bowl, "Baby, you must have had a shovel for a spoon because it's all gone."

My bad. Gail comes around the corner and stops in her tracks. "Hi Christian, is there something wrong with that bowl?" She looks to me, and my chocolate covered face is enough for her to start busting out in laughter.

"Asked and answered. Oh, Ana, what am I going to do with you? Honey, that cake was for dessert tonight, not a mid-day snack for you. I'm sorry Christian, I turned my back to change the laundry, and she snuck in here, quietly I might add. Let me get started on another batch." Gail slowly takes the bowl away from me, places it in the sink, and then offers me a damp paper towel.

After she takes away my bowl, I waddle my way to the hall bath, close, and lock the door. It's like a horror show when I look in the mirror. I must be possessed because there's no other excuse as to why I have batter all over my face. I look like a kid who's enjoyed their first-year birthday smash cake. It's in my hair, on my ears, under my chin. Fuck this…I'm not wasting that batter with a paper towel. I licked my finger and scrape it off. Mm mm mmm, it's so fucking good.

"I'm going to take a shower," I announce like a five-year-old, as I stomp out of the bathroom, well as much as I can anyway. Christian and Gail let out a soft chuckle. I'm trying to make a point damnit!

I know I shouldn't eat raw eggs but tell that to the three little pigs currently taking up residence in my uterus. Obviously, they were screaming for cake batter, so I'll be damned if I don't give my babies what they want. Hopefully, this isn't a sign of what's to come. I don't want to be one of those moms with spoiled little shits who scream and rant about wanting a fucking paper clip because everyone else has one. No, I refuse to be that mom. It's Christian I need to be worried about honestly. His bank account keeps getting bigger by the day. He's already started trust funds for the babies, so I will have to keep a close eye on his gift-giving and leniency. These babies will have him wrapped around everyone one of their 30 fingers.

Week 34

While Christian is at work, I decide to stay in bed. The past few days have been a real shit show. Literally. Everything I eat leads me straight to the bathroom, and it's not because I need to puke. I can't get comfortable in any position because my stomach is the size of a boulder, my back aches, I feel crampy, can barely fit into any of my maternity clothes, and I'll be damned if I'm going to buy anything more. What to do, what to do? If I redo the nursery for the 50th time, I may find myself in a rubber room instead of a birthing room. Christian wanted sex last night, and I gave him the stink eye, said no fucking way, and nearly kicked him out of bed. Six weeks is a long time to wait for sex; I'll be the first to admit. However, he will do just fine with the help of his hand.

I feel a tap on my arm, startling me awake from my third nap of the day. Damn, I was so comfortable, and now for some reason, someone feels it necessary to wake me. Better be important! I wake to look at the reason I have no energy, hemorrhoids and wear clothes that resemble a circus tent. Christian clearly decided it was sibling night, and next to him, my sister, Kate, Keegan, and Elliott with these ridiculous smiles on their faces.

"What the fuck, babe, I was naaappping. What's with the groupies?" I'm whining again and have no energy to lift my head from my pillow or open my eyes.

"Baby, it's almost seven. I just got home from work. Are you feeling okay?" I hear this question ten times a day.

I feel before I can say it; uh oh, here comes the crazy hormonal bitch, "No, I'm not goddamnit. I feel like these invaders will never vacate the premises, and I'm fucking hungry again. I have to pee right, so before I roll over and pee on your side of the bed, I need help. No more Christian, you keep your goddamn super dick away from me. No more sex for you. I am so over being pregnant."

He dare not laugh, but that doesn't stop Larry, Moe, Curly, and Shep from letting go. Harper tries to tell Keegan there is no way she's going to let him put super Grey sperm in her, and it turns into more than baby.

Still needing to pee, I make the pathetic attempt to get myself out of bed, but I can't do it. My sister and Kate shoo the boys out of our bedroom, and they help me sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. One on each side, they help me stand up. Thinking the hormonal bitch fest is over, I open my mouth.

"I'm warning you both right now, do not have sex anymore. Cut them both off because they're related, you know, so that maniacal sperm runs in the family. I mean, they're twins, we're twins, and now there's gonna be triplets. I'm tellin ya, if you don't listen to me and wind up pregnant with four or five or even six of these little aliens, don't come bitchin to me about it." Nope, the raving lunatic is still there.

"Soon, Ana. Soon," she whispers as she helps me to the bathroom, trying to calm me down. I miss my sister and Kate, and it's times like this that reminds me just how much. I ponder this as I pee, but Sargent Bathroom Monitor, aka my husband, is incessantly rapping on the door, asking if I need help. Umm, that would be no. I may not be able to see my vagina, and it takes me a bit of time, but I can still locate it.

"Nooo, I may be ready to drop these three like they're hot, but I can still wipe my own ass," I yell so he can hear me. After three tries, I'm able to hoist my ass off the toilet. Slowly I open the door and have an audience again, but I turn my nose up and smell something delicious wafting in the air.

"Out of my way, people, I smell Italian." I'm a woman on a mission. A food mission! Happy Ana makes her way to the kitchen to dig into whatever scrumptious creation Gail has cooked.

We all sit around the table, and just as something witty is about to leave my mouth, one of those fucking Braxton Hicks hits me like a freight train, and I moan like a wildebeest, and it isn't a sexy moan either. Holy Moley hockey goalie that fucking hurts.

"Seriously, babies, momma needs to eat so calm the fuck down already." I rub my gigantic pointy stomach. I swear all three of them have their asses on the front of my stomach. I look ridiculous.

I make it through dinner, but barely. I'm staring at nothing, listening to everyone drone on about what's happening in their lives. Actually, I think I might be sleeping with my eyes open.

It's past my bedtime. "Sorry, guys, I'm going to bed. I don't have the energy to do anything, my back hurts, and I'm tired." I get hugs and kisses from everyone and make my way to our big, fluffy, warm bed.

I don't know what time it is, but my eyes shoot open just as I feel a sharp pain in my back. Maybe I can take a bath, and that will help. I reach over to nudge my husband, but he's not there. Well, fuck me. I look at the clock, and it read midnight. Turning to grab my phone another pain hits stronger than I have ever felt. Sweet baby Jesus, these fake ass contractions can kiss my ass.

Unable to reach my phone, I try to slide, yeah, right. I scooch closer to the edge of the bed to get up. Just as I stand, I feel wet. I turn on my night table light and see the bed is wet.

Umm…Houston, we have a problem. I think my water broke, and that's what woke me up.

"Chrrrriiisstttiiaannn," I shriek.