Meet Baby Morgan (Clara Andrews Series - Book 5)

  Meet

  Baby

  Morgan

  Copyright © 2015-2016 by Stacey Cartlidge

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For my furbaby.

  May your tail always wag.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  I have reached that point in my pregnancy where I no longer want to wear pants…

  Chapter 1

  No one said that it would be like this. No one said that I would feel like a killer whale with the world’s longest case of gastroenteritis. My feet are fat. My face is fat. Even my knees are bloody fat. Dunking a French fry into my strawberry milkshake, I wipe a dollop of curry sauce from my chin and let out an exhausted sigh. Disgusting, I know, but for the past nine months I have craved nothing more. Watching the greasy potato absorb the sugary concoction has become my favourite part of the day. I actually can’t remember the last time I ate something relatively normal. From chilli sauce on my ice cream to pickled onions with my morning slice of toast, I would never have believed that something so utterly vile could taste so delicious. What is it about being pregnant that turns you into a greedy food philistine?

  Before I fell pregnant, I had conjured up images of myself daintily sucking on ice chips whilst rubbing almond oil into a cute little baby belly. I’m afraid to say that I was sorely mistaken. The reality of pregnancy is much harsher than I had anticipated. Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t hated every second of being pregnant. Apart from the heartburn, back pain, nausea and never ending fatigue, I have become quite fond of my burgeoning bump. Well, I was quite fond of it until five days ago. Since then I have prayed every morning that today will be the day that I am exonerated from this misery. In case you are wondering, five days ago was my due date. The date that I was meant to be rewarded for nine months of sickness with a beautiful bundle of joy. Only my beautiful bundle of joy doesn’t seem to want to exit my belly just yet. As lovely as it is to think that I have made such a fantastic home for him that he simply doesn’t want to leave, I would really appreciate it if little Noah would hurry up and make an appearance.

  Noah Morgan. That is what we are calling him, if he ever decides to grace us with his presence. It feels weird referring to him as Noah. After months and months of disagreement, we finally stumbled across a name that we both loved. At one point I was extremely worried that we were going to be calling him Baby Morgan forever. No matter how much Oliver pleaded, there was absolutely no way that I was going to call my son Buck, Rusty or Sailor. Believe it or not, he was pretty set on Rusty, but Rusty Morgan sounds more like a dodgy Magaluf cocktail to me.

  Looking down at my swollen stomach, I think back to the day that I found out we were expecting. A soppy smile spreads across my face as I recall the precious memory. It was Christmas morning that I saw the first blue line. I say first blue line because after the initial test proved positive, I proceeded to take an additional ten tests, just to be completely sure. It’s fair to say that this pregnancy came as a bit of a shock to both of us, but after the initial panic wore off my husband and I were ecstatic about becoming parents. At the time, I was convinced that nine months would fly by in a blur of baby outfits, ultrasound appointments and pram covers. Not once did I expect that I would spend a good seven months of it with my head down the toilet. If I wasn’t physically being sick, I was hiding under the duvet worrying about being sick.

  After all the cute stories I was told about pregnancy being a magical time where you glow with happiness, I can’t help but feel that it has been mis-sold to me somehow. The only thing glowing about me this past nine months has been the sweat on my forehead post vomiting escapade.

  Discovering that I have eaten the last of my French fries, I rest my milkshake on top of my stomach and pray that Noah doesn’t kick it off like he did last time. From my position on the sofa, I can see the sun shining through the branches of the huge oak tree in the garden. Despite the fact that we have been here for almost six months now, I still find it strange to look outside and see an actual garden instead of the skyline of the city.

  Leaving our luxury penthouse behind for a rural life in the countryside was a bigger lifestyle change than I had anticipated. The bustling busy street that I had become so accustomed to has been replaced with a leafy avenue in the suburbs. Gone are the cosmopolitan bars, the express nail salons and the twenty-four hour restaurants. Instead I have a thirty-minute drive to the supermarket and a garden that I can’t see to the bottom of. Seriously, it’s absolutely massive. Like Central Park, apart from the pretzel stands and American accents. Well, given the fact that my husband is a Texan native, we actually do have American accents around here.

  Thinking of my lovely husband brings a blissful smile to my bloated face. He really has been a superstar throughout this pregnancy. As soon as the estate agents reopened after Christmas, Oliver put our luxury apartment on the market. A mere eight weeks later we found ourselves here, in the picturesque village of Spring Oak. Oliver fell in love with the stunning thatched cottage the second that he saw the listing online. It’s fair to say that I was more than a little sceptical about his choice of a thatched property. Before I went to the actual viewing, I had conjured up images of low ceilings, chintz carpets and dark, uninviting rooms. The truth is that I couldn’t have been more wrong. As soon as we stepped over the threshold I fell head over heels in love.

  The entire building has been sympathetically refurbished to a ridiculously high standard. A state of the art kitchen stands proudly in the open plan space, every surface adorned with a different high tech appliance. The beautiful vaulted ceilings and exposed beams provide a lovely reminder of the history that has been retained within these walls. Our huge half-moon sofa looks out across the acres of land that we call a garden. With dozens of trees lining the perimeters, totally enclosing us into our new found oasis, it really is magical. Yes, it is very different to inner city living, but it is finally starting to feel like home.

  Pushing myself to my feet with great effort, I waddle into the kitchen and discard my empty paper cartons. Due to my intense nausea, our kitchen has not stored any actual food for at least the past two months. On the plus side, it has been one less room to clean. Not that I have been doing much cleaning lately. It has taken all of my energy just to get to the bathroom on time. Which isn’t as easy as it sounds when you need to pee ten thousand times a day. Resting my bump in my hands, I pad out of the kitchen and head up the stairs. Call me crazy, but ever since my due date passed I have had an irrational fear that I am going to spontaneously explode. You can laugh, but I seriously don’t know how much bigger I can physically get.

  Pausing for breath as I reach the landing, I glance over to the nursery and gingerly push open the door. Noah’s nursery is probably my favourite part of the entire house. The sky blue walls have be
en hand painted with intricate drawings of various zoo animals. Monkeys, lions and giraffes smile out at you, blending into the millions of soft toys that are huddled on the floor. A solid oak cot sits by the quaint sash window, just waiting to cradle a sleeping baby. It’s like stepping into a real life cartoon, one that makes you want to be a child again.

  Truth be told, I can’t take credit for this frankly fabulous room. Luckily for me, my best friend, Lianna, owns her own interior design firm. Granted, Periwinkle has only been going for a few months, but her success rate has been unbelievable. From five star reviews in the local paper to a waiting list that extends as far as Christmas, she really has hit the ground running and I couldn’t be prouder of her if I tried. Plus, the BFF discount means that we can take advantage of her great talent at a fantastic low rate. Which is the icing on an already very sweet cake.

  Just twelve months earlier, Lianna, Oliver and I all worked at Suave. In case you don’t know, Suave is a relatively big name in the shoe industry. What started out as a small boutique label quickly became a brand that was recognised by celebrities and stylists alike. It’s hard to believe how much has changed in such a short space of time. I am actually going to miss working at Suave, although deep down I know that the time is right for me to move on. Things changed massively once Li left and when our old manager, Marc, decided to emigrate to Australia it was the final nail in the coffin.

  With me being mit baby, I decided to hand in my notice and give the whole stay at home mother thing a go. Oliver on the other hand is still working in the city. Once we made the move to suburbia, he immediately started looking for a transfer to somewhere closer to home. Unfortunately, there isn’t much call for a fashion designer around these parts, so unless he wanted to become a stable hand (he didn’t) he had to stay put. On the plus side, Oliver staying on at Suave does have its advantages. With Periwinkle being just a few streets away, it has given us a great excuse to meet up with Li for the occasional after work drink. After work drinks are tradition that Li and I have practised for years. A tradition that I was very worried about losing when we all went our separate ways.

  Due to my ever expanding stomach, our after work cocktails have been replaced with weekend Mothercare visits and Skype calls to Marc in Sydney. When Marc and his wife decided to take their two children and make the leap down under, Lianna and I were devastated. You see, Marc, Lianna and I were the best of friends for more years than I care to remember, so waving them off on their Australian adventure was much harder than any of us expected. Although dealing with this pregnancy has managed to take my mind off it and on the bright side, they’re going to come back for a visit once Noah arrives. It’s hard to believe that the next time I see my friend I will have swapped this burgeoning bump for a living, breathing child. Oh, how things change.

  Running a finger along the railings of the cot, I close the door behind me and waddle down the landing to my bedroom. This is as far as I have moved in the past five days. Every slight twinge has had me panicking like I am in full blown labour. The birth itself has been something that has bothered me from my very first scan. Now, I know that every woman is scared of giving birth to some degree, but it is safe to say that I am completely and utterly petrified. The dawning realisation that something the size of a small Yorkshire Terrier is going to come out of there gives me actual nightmares. In an attempt to conquer my fear, I spent days on end trying to come up with the perfect birthing plan, but even now I still don’t know how I want this to pan out.

  Every option I looked at appeared to be more horrific than the last. On one hand I have got Lianna encouraging me to have a boho, drug free home birth and on the other I have my audacious motherin-law telling me to have two epidurals, just in case. In an ideal world Noah would pop out in one push, without the need for any intervention at all. Quick and easy, like shelling peas. However, if my internet research has taught me anything, it’s that labour is more frightening than a horror film on Halloween.

  Collapsing onto our giant bed, I grab my maternity pillow and curl up into a ball. The absolute worst thing about being overdue is that you feel like a ticking bomb. One that could go off at any second, at any time and in any place. In fact, today is the first day that Oliver has left my side in an entire week. It took me ages to convince him that I wouldn’t detonate in the two short hours that it would take him to run some errands. Rubbing my bump gently, I send Noah a mental SOS to stay put until his daddy gets home.

  With Oliver’s family being across the pond in America, his parents have been on red alert for weeks. Their bags are packed and their passports are waiting, all ready for them to jump on a plane the second that my waters break. Just like my own parents, Janie and Randy offered to come and stay with us in the run up to the birth. However, this final trimester has turned me into Oscar the Grouch and I really think that having other people around would push me over the edge. Don’t get me wrong, I am extremely grateful that they are going to come and help with Noah. The idea of looking after a baby alone is petrifying and I am not ashamed to admit it.

  Spotting Oliver’s car pull onto our gravel driveway, I say a silent prayer that he has brought me some more strawberry milkshake. I’d hate to have to send him out again. A gentle summer breeze blows in through the open window, causing the sheer curtains to billow softly. Closing my eyes, I enjoy the cool wind on my skin. My wild dark curls waft lightly, reminding me that I am well overdue a haircut. I swear these pregnancy hormones are causing my hair to grow ten times faster than normal. I could pass for Chewbacca at the moment. Well, I guess the fact that I haven’t shaved my legs in weeks may also be contributing to my hairy problem. When you can’t see past your stomach it’s pretty much impossible to shave anything below the armpits. See what I mean about the wonderful pregnancy stories being a lie?

  Hearing Oliver’s familiar footsteps on the stairs, I stretch out my legs lazily as he comes into view. There he is. My wonderful husband.

  ‘Did you have the baby yet?’ His mouth stretches into a grin as he drops onto the bed next to me.

  ‘Nope.’ I reply, pointing to my giant belly. ‘He’s still in there.’

  ‘Little guy must get his punctuality from his mommy.’ Oliver lets out a laugh and strokes my bump fondly.

  ‘Hmm.’ I stick out my bottom lip and give my stomach a little prod. ‘I’m starting to worry that he isn’t ever going to come out.’

  ‘He’ll be here.’ Oliver reassures me. ‘Just give him time.’

  I grumble under my breath and wiggle my chubby toes in agitation. That’s easy for him to say. He doesn’t feel like he is going to burst every time he coughs, laughs or sneezes.

  ‘That reminds me, I have something for you.’ He flashes me a smile and pats my leg encouragingly.

  Please be a milkshake! Please be a milkshake!

  Reaching into his briefcase, he pulls out a folder and hands me a notepad. ‘I bumped into Li on my lunch, she wanted me to give you this.’

  My heart sinks as I flip open the cover. I can’t eat this! I feel my brow crease into a frown as I take in Lianna’s messy handwriting.

  ‘What is this?’ I ask in confusion, trying to shuffle up into a sitting position.

  ‘It’s a list of ways to naturally induce labour. She wants you to try at least three before she arrives tomorrow.’ He runs a hand through his floppy curls and lets out a yawn. ‘I must warn you, some of them seem a little… out there.’

  Reaching over for my reading glasses from the bedside cabinet, I attempt to decipher the squiggles.

  Spicy food, pineapple, gentle exercise, jasmine oil, sex…

  I actually laugh out loud at the last one. You have got to be kidding me! I would rather have my tongue pierced with a dirty stapler than have sex with anyone right now. Even Ryan Gosling wouldn’t get a look in. Blowing a stray strand of hair out of my face, I rest my head on Oliver’s shoulder and stare up at his pretty face. His big blue eyes look tired as he smiles down at me. Bless him. He has worked so
hard these past few months. Between commuting back and forth into the city and driving out in the middle of the night to satisfy my pregnancy cravings, he must be absolutely exhausted.

  ‘I love you, Oliver Morgan.’ I reach up and plant a kiss on his nose before snuggling down into his chest.

  He mumbles something under his breath which I take to mean, I love you too. My eyes start to feel heavy as I watch his chest rise and fall with each breath that he takes. Just as I am starting to drop off, I feel Noah kicking gently, reminding me that he will soon be with us. We might not know where or when he will arrive, but one thing’s for sure, we will most certainly be ready for him when he does…

  I do NOT waddle!

  It’s called pregnancy swag…

  Chapter 2

  Taking a bite out of a green chilli pepper, I try to ignore the burning sensation that is circling my tongue and swallow fast. A bead of sweat crawls down my forehead as I dive in for a second jalapeño. Looking down at my stomach, I shake my head in disappointment. No movement as yet, not even a pity kick. What a waste of a day. Since the moment that I rolled out of bed this morning, I have dedicated myself to kick starting this labour. It was when I was having my fourth hot sweat of the night that I decided today would be the day I gave birth. I was told nine months when I signed up for this. Not nine months and six long, gruelling days.

  Begrudgingly reaching for my glass of water, I pad into the living room in search of Lianna’s list. So far, I have soaked in a jasmine infused bath, eaten an entire pineapple and almost burnt a hole in my mouth with the chillies, but I don’t feel any different than I have done for the past week. Sucking on an ice cube, I take a pen and cross all three off my list. I really don’t fancy doing it and if I try to eat anything else there is a very strong chance that I might projectile vomit… again.