I Looked Up To My Uncle Miguel When I Was Younger. He Was This Hardcore Biker Guy, Who Was Always Getting

I looked up to my Uncle Miguel when I was younger. He was this hardcore biker guy, who was always getting into trouble, and always on the go. One day, he’d be in Florida, and the next he’d be somewhere in Texas, and then in California. I hardly ever saw him in person, but every time he’d come back up north to visit, it was like I finally had a big sibling to play with.

Growing up as an only child, I always wanted to have a brother or sister. I wanted someone to play, joke, laugh, argue, and fight with… just like Dad and Uncle Miguel did with each other... which is why I’ll never forget the day when Miguel came to my house to tells us all that he was pregnant.

I was only about six or seven when Miguel shared the good news. He was already a few months along… I don’t know how many… and, when my mom let him into the house, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He’d always do that whenever he made a “pit stop” — that’s what he used to call his visits to us. Take his shirt off, sling it over one of the handlebars on his bike, rev up the engine a few times, and walk up to the door like a badass. It was awesome every time! I remember that his belly was the first thing I saw when he walked in… like it was trying to beat him into the house… and his belly button looked like my favorite cinnamon roll cereal.

My mom started screaming with excitement as soon as she saw him, and immediately sent me away to my room. Neither her or my dad told me why Uncle Miguel’s belly had gotten so big… but I already knew what was going on. I couldn’t believe that my uncle, who’d been like an older brother to me, was having a baby of his own… and, even better, I couldn’t believe that I was finally getting that sibling that I always wanted… or, something close to it. In my heart, I just knew that Uncle Miguel was going to stay with us while he waited for the stork to pop his belly open and give him that baby… but he didn’t. After listening to all of the laughter and excitement through my bedroom door, and pressing my ear to the wood for what felt like forever, Miguel just… left. He said his goodbyes to my parents and got back on his motorcycle, without coming to say goodbye to me.

After that night, it seemed like his pit-stops became less and less frequent… and I had to watch my cousin grow up through the screens on my parents’ phones. It took me years and years to get over it, and come to terms with the fact that I’ll probably be an only child forever… but I never forgot that day.

Jeremy knows that I have a crush on him. He’s got to… because he’s always pushing my buttons!

Being the only pregnant kid in our English class, he gets a lot of special attention — from our teacher and our classmates. It’s like everyone’s eyes are always on him, making sure that he’s okay… and not sick, or having contractions, or anything… and that means that everyone’s eyes are on me too.

It’s not easy, having to sit beside him every day. It’s almost like sitting in the emergency exit seat on an airplane, because… on the off chance that anything were to happen… everyone expects me to hop out of my chair and come to his rescue. If that’s not bad enough, I’ve had a crush on him since we were in the eighth grade… and, every time I’m around him, I can just feel myself choking.

There’s something about him being pregnant… that huge belly of his… that makes my awkwardness even worse. I don’t know if I’m into it, or if it scares me. Sometimes I want to touch it… kiss all over it… and, other times, I just wish it would disappear.

He must’ve picked up on my nervousness, sometime recently, because he’s been giving me these… strange looks… and making suggestive gestures toward me. Today, Jeremy even exposed his belly to me, and invited me to give it a rub. Maybe it’s just my vibe. Maybe he’s just mega hormonal, and I’m the closest guy around. All I know is, every time he looks at me, I feel like I could just melt away. I think I’m going crazy!

Sonny's life took a sharp turn for the worse when Emmit — his long-time bully, and academic rival — told everyone that he was pregnant with their math teacher's baby. As if dealing with Emmit's relentless taunting and physical abuse wasn't enough without the new baby, Sonny suddenly found himself thrust into an insane situation... forced to endure even more humiliation and embarrassment.

In the past, Emmit kept his bullying methods pretty simple. He'd tape mean notes to Sonny's back, wipe globules of his disgusting snot and boogers on his clothes, and throw objects at him while their teacher, Mr. Fuller, gave the daily lectures. However, with the raging hormones and emotions accompanying his pregnancy, Emmit's torment of Jake soon escalated to unimaginable heights. No longer satisfied with his old technique, he began to demand that Jake cater to his every whim during math class.

Now, under the watchful eyes of their amused classmates, Sonny is ordered to do whatever Emmit wants him to — kneading away the dry sweat, flakes of dead skin, dirt and grime from Emmit's reeking soles... tenderly rubbing his bloated tummy... kissing and rubbing his protruding belly whenever the baby decides to throw a wild tantrum... licking and sucking on his belly button, just for kicks... wiping away the sweat from his clammy forehead... holding a trash can to Emmit's chin whenever a wave of nausea overwhelms him... and even fanning away the pungent farts that escape Emmit's gassy belly — all while Mr.Fuller turns a blind eye to his torment.

As Emmit's pregnancy continues to progress, and he gets more and more needy, Sonny longs for the familiar feeling of the physical violence that Emmit used to inflict upon him after class. Any kind of beating from his pregnant bully would feel better than the soul-crushing embarrassment he feels whenever he's given a new command. He never thought he would yearn for the days when he was being physically assaulted in front of his locker... but he does, more than anything. He eagerly anticipates the day when Emmit will finally give birth to Mr. Fuller's kid, knowing it might bring an end to his greatest problem.

Unfortunately though, he knows that he'll probably be made to assist Emmit during the birth itself. His heart sinks at the thought of being present for such a visceral and messy ordeal. As he gently massages Emmit's swollen feet — for what feels like the millionth time this week — he fantasizes of the day when it'll all be over... when the old Emmit, the bully who had once reveled in demonstrating his physical dominance over his academic superiors, finally returns.

Ever since I’ve known him, Mason has wanted to travel abroad to France, and reconnect with his family’s roots. His great-grandfather on his mother’s side was born in Lyon, and immigrated to America when he was in his late 30s, to be with his great-grandmother. Knowing that part of his family’s history, Mason’s always felt this… urge… to visit his maternal nation of origin.

For years, we’ve been putting together a trip… planning all of the ins and outs in great detail. We researched so much of Lyon’s history, found a few museums to visit, took note of some cool tourist attractions, located his great-grandpa’s childhood home, and even connected with a few of his distant relatives in France. Every step of the way — with each new piece of history, and family member that we learned about — Mason’s sense of belonging grew. Finally, he felt like he had a home… the same pride that I take in my Nigerian roots.

Finished with our years of research, we finally set a date for our trip — July 5th of this year — and started packing our bags. We were excited… more excited than we’d been for anything else before… so excited that Mason began to feel sick. Suddenly, he started having these spells of nausea, and fits of shaking and vomiting. Between packing his bags, and brushing up on his French, he was constantly hugging the toilet. At first, I thought it was just the happiness getting the better of him… that all of the emotions swirling inside him had somehow manifested themselves into a sickness… but, as the weeks leading up to our departure creeped by, he started to change.

I don’t know why we didn’t assume that he was pregnant earlier on. Looking back, it was obvious. Once we found out, though — after two months of him throwing up, gaining weight, and lashing out at me for the smallest little things — we were devastated.

Now, not only has a massive wrench been thrown in our plans… but, newly aware of the baby growing inside him, Mason is starting to reconsider the timeframe of our trip. Instead of leaving for France in a few days, like we scheduled for, he wants to wait until the baby is born… and a little bit older… to visit France, so that we can all experience it together. Our flight takes off in 72 hours, and he and I are still wrestling with the idea of getting on that plane, or waiting a few more years.

Barry laid across the couch, feeling utterly drained. Once again, morning sickness had hit him like a ton of bricks, and it seemed like there was no end in sight. From the relentless vomiting, to the uncontrollable bowels and sore muscles, his body felt like it was betraying him at every turn. His stomach churned with a queasy ache, and each small movement made him feel even worse. He couldn't believe that something as natural and par-for-the-course as morning sickness could make him so miserable… but it always did.

Rendered motionless by the discomfort, Barry could do nothing but lie on the couch… a mere shell of himself. He longed for the day when he would finally wake up without the heavy burden of morning sickness dragging him down, and have the energy to face the day with a smile on his face… and as world spun around him, he clung to the hope that this would all be over soon.

His doctor had reassured him that the worst would pass by the time he reached twenty weeks, but that milestone felt like it was a lifetime away. For now, his only solace was the cool draft in his living room, flowing over his bare feet and exposed belly, cooling his feverish sickness.

My dad’s been pregnant with my little brother for what feels like ages now. I swear, with my senior year of high school finally coming to an end, it has to have been at least a year since he and my step-mom conceived the little dude. Ever since he told me that I was going to be a big sibling — the one piece of news that I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear — he’s had this weird, overly-determined attitude… like he refuses to let his pregnancy get the better of him. I just don’t get it.

Despite the fact that he’s only nine short weeks away from giving birth, he’s still adamant about working hard — unwilling to sit down and give his body the rest that it needs. No matter how much his doctor tells him to take some time to relax everyday, and let nature take its course, he never heeds their warning. “A sitting man is a useless man.” He always says. “I’m not useless… just pregnant.”

He’s been outside all afternoon, fixing and re-installing the porch light by the front door. The man who can’t even get up from the couch without taking my hand and counting to ten… the man who needs therapeutic belly rubs, just to fall asleep comfortably… is currently up on a tall ladder, playing around with electricity… all because he refuses to swallow his pride and let my step-mom hire a professional repair guy. Here I am, watching him from the ground, making sure that he doesn’t topple over, and injure himself again. Man… look at that belly. Dad’s huge!