You're dying for some breakfast

For once, you feel a familiar sensation in the form of an empty stomach. The hunger is a bit more intense now that there is another person inside you that you also have to feed.

You hope that this house has something to offer you in the form of a decent meal. Granola bars might've carried you so far, but you'd really prefer to eat something else, like a fat slice of pizza.

You quietly and slowly walk down the corridor, as quietly as a preggo chick like you can. You fear finding that guy skulking around somewhere. Your plan is to actually just grab some stuff and lock yourself inside your room.

But the more time passes, the more it seems like there's nobody else inside this house besides you. As you finally arrive to the living room, you're convinced that you're indeed alone here.

You let yourself sigh in relief, though still feeling a bit uncomfortable. You look down your large belly as if understanding the cause of said feeling. Although the shirt you're wearing could be considered big for a girl your size, it really wasn't made for when you're knocked up, you find out as its fabric feels a little restricting against your belly in its, what you guess must be, seventh or eighth month of pregnancy.

You look around to make absolutely sure that there really is nobody there as you get an idea. Pulling the shirt up until its past your belly, you breath out, finally feeling comfortable.

"Much better." You say with the entirety of your bloated stomach hanging out and exposed.

The scene seems like something straight out of one of those stereotypes about dumb barefoot and pregnant housewives, but you don't care. It just feels better that way.

You eventually find the kitchen and open the fridge. Not much you can work with, but you guess it could be worse.

Grabbing some eggs and a pan underneath the sink, you start to prepare your meal. At least you still remember how to make some scrambled eggs.

Operating the stove, you're annoyed at how much your belly gets on the way, while on the same time being careful with it. You find yourself wishing to sit down as its weight also starts to give you back pains. Being pregnant really sucks. No wonder women are alwyas so bitchy about it.

Once you think its done, you get a plate and pour the product of your culinary abilities on it. You sigh in a bit of relief, finally getting some rest when your soft butt feel the chair beneath it.

You start eating your breakfast heartily. It doesn't taste half as bad, though you'd like some bacon to go with it. Either way, it's nice to have something to eat and devour with the same appetite you normally had. You're lucky enough to know to cook some things for yourself. Unfortunately, you're just not satisfied when you finish your plate. Leaving it on the sink, you briefly look around, searching if there's anything else you can put inside that fat belly of yours until your brown eyes find a bag of chips hiding at the back of a cabinet.

These will do.

You open the poor bag with ease and start munching on some ships in, what would be, an unfitting manner for a young lady.

Why should you care though?

With bag of chip in hand, you make your way to the living room and find a seat on the sofa, plopping your ass on the cushy surface. Or was it that your ass was cushy? Whatever.

Leaning back with your legs spread as if it was another sunday, you grab the remote next to you and start flipping through some channels. Commercials, cooking shows, reality shows, news.

"And now back to our program, First-time Moms!" A lady on the TV announces as you land on a certain channel. "Mary Ann, 19, is about to learn how to properly put Julia to sleep..."

The lady keeps talking on the TV whilst you freeze for a moment. The teenage mom playing with her baby on the screen looks to be around the age of your body, if only slightly older. Apparently, this is one those shows meant to help young parents that forgot to pull out during sex with taking care of their children. Given your situation, you wonder if you should...

"Yeah right..." You say shaking your head and returning to flipping through the channels.

Eventually, you land on a match of basketball and decide to watch the game. It's not the most exciting of all of them. The plays dragging out and not that creative. Yet this is not at all why you find it hard to concetrate on it. There's something in the back of your head bothering you, and it ain't your curly blond hair.

The voice of that lady giving advice about taking care of a baby with the picture of that girl with her own is what it is. It's a stupid a idea, but your fingers scrape against the buttons of the remote as you debate if you should turn back to that channel. You notice that you've also gone back to your newly-found addiction, which is caressing your pregnant belly.

You immediately stop once you realize what you're doing. Staring down at your exposed stomach, you angrily begin to exclaim. "I am not spending the rest of my life as some fucking baby momma, do you understand!? Once I give you birth I'm putting you straight to adoption and looking for my sister!"

As if it's able to hear you, you feel it's response in the form of a sharp pain coming from inside you, making you grunt in turn.

"Ugh, little fucker. You're lucky that they don't let you have abortions in this state."

Feeling as if you've made your point, you then decide it's best to stop talking to something that can't hear or understand you and return to watching TV.

But even after making all that scene, something still manages to disrupt your game.

There's a strange moisture around your nipples. It's probably just sweat after you got worked up just now. You tried to ignore it, but the tight and painful sensation around the area was becoming a bit too much. You look down your covered bust to find two dark wet spots on the fabric of your shirt.

"What the fuck is this?" You ask in a barely audible tone as you confirm that there is something wet there indeed.

Getting off the sofa with some struggle, you get to the bathroom to inspect.