Sleepovers At Macks House Have Only Gotten More Exciting Since I Accidentally Got Him Pregnant. Just

Sleepovers at Mack’s house have only gotten more exciting since I accidentally got him pregnant. Just to clear things up, he and I have been best friends our entire lives… and, a few months ago, we went through this experimental phase. You know how it is for guys our age. We tried a few things out, touched each other for a while, realized we didn’t like each other that way… and, at some point during that brief chapter of our friendship, I accidentally knocked him up. Now his folks are upset at him, and think the baby belongs to his ex. Yadda yadda yadda.

Like I was saying though… sleepovers at Mack’s house are one heck of a time now, especially since his parents aren’t suspicious of me. We can do whatever we want, and they don’t think anything of it, just like it’s always been. Whenever I’m at his place, it’s like my hands get stuck to his belly. I can’t keep myself off of that thing. When I walk through the front door and meet him in the kitchen, that’s the first place they go… and then, they’re glued. I turn into a huge mush-fest, cooing and kissing at it, like I only understand baby talk. It doesn’t matter who’s around, either. His parents think it’s the sweetest thing when they see me rubbing his belly. His mom and dad still see me as that snot-nosed little boy their some met in pre-k… and, as far as they know, I’m just being a supportive friend.

When we go down to the basement — where all of Mack’s stuff is — all I do is lay with him in bed and play with his belly, which is way more fun than it sounds. Like, I’ll spend hours just resting my head on it while he eats snacks and plays video games, feeling the baby kick, talking to the little thing, and listening to his stomach gurgle. I lick Mack’s belly button all the time too… just flick my tongue in there, until it starts to cramp. It’s just something weird that I do, to get a reaction out of him and the baby. It’s so fascinating, knowing that there’s a tiny human in there, and feeling it move around — even more so, with it being my kid. Honestly, I still don’t think I fully grasp the whole situation. It doesn’t feel… real… yet.

He and I talk about this whole pregnancy thing like it’s nothing. I’ll ask him how he’s feeling, and when I should come by to take him to his next appointment, and he never treats me like I’m just his baby-daddy. Our friendship hasn’t changed one bit. He’s still cool with me, and I’m the same old idiot that I’ve always been. All night long, he’ll go on and on about how weird his pregnancy is, how his parents are total assholes whenever I’m not around, how gross he feels in his own skin, or how his body is working against him. Recently, he told me that when he farts, he pees a little bit too. It’s honestly really funny, now that I think about it. Every time I hear him fart, or smell one of his silent killers, that means that he’s just pissed himself too. Even funnier, his farts are way worse now. They reek like hell.

I look forward to going to Mack’s place after school every night. It’s so nice that we can still have a good time with one another, laugh like two lunatics, and be ourselves… even in our current situation. In our hearts, we’re still those two little dickheads in the back of the class, goofing off and having a good time. Honestly, if things could just stay like this until he gives birth, I’d get him pregnant a million times.

Jacob can hardly sit still, these days. With the sharp aches in his legs and feet growing more intense as the weeks creep by, the bloating and gas from his seemingly perpetual morning sickness constantly kicking his ass, and his bladder on the verge of bursting open, waiting a mere four hours to board the plane for his cross-country flight is like literal torture.

This year’s Spring Break couldn’t have come at a worse time for Jacob — or, rather, his unplanned pregnancy couldn’t be any more inconvenient than it is right now. Here he is, waiting to fly home to his parents’ house, to kick off the two greatest weeks of April — when he should be living it up with his hometown buddies — and he’s too busy suffering through a surprisingly difficult pregnancy… a pregnancy that his parents are completely clueless about… to even come up with any Spring Break plans.

His meaty feet and toes airing out in the cool downdraft, for all of the other airport guests to see, and his hands tucked into the pockets of his sweatshirt, desperately trying to ease away the pain in his abdomen, Jacob’s already having an awful time. He has no idea how he’s going to explain this “mystery sickness” to his prying folks… or how much longer he can put off going to the nearest toilet. All he knows is that he’s got a mere four hours left to get himself together, and ready to go… and that, in itself, is stressful enough.

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.

My Uncle Jerry and his husband have been together for almost fifteen years, and they still love each other as much as they did when they first met. Whenever they’re together, they’re like two infatuated teenagers. To put it bluntly, my uncles have a bit of a PDA problem… and, sometimes, it’s so goo-goo insane that the rest of my family doesn’t even want to be around them.

Like, this summer, when we all took a week-long trip down to Myrtle Beach, to celebrate my uncles’ shocking pregnancy announcement. Me, my mom, my dad, his parents, Uncle Jerry, Jerry’s husband, and their unborn baby — who they insisted that we include as another member of the vacation.

One day, we were all relaxing at the beach… just soaking up the sun, and enjoying the cool oceanfront breeze. Mom was tanning, dad was tossing a frisbee with grandpa, nana was napping in her foldable chair, I was scrolling through Instagram… and Uncle Jerry and his husband were laying in the sand, caught up in their little love-fest. They were kissing, and cooing at one another, and making dirty jokes… which was all fine and dandy… but then, they took things a little too far, for the rest of us.

I’m just scrolling… liking the photos that my friends all posted on their pages… when, all of a sudden, I hear my Uncle Jerry moan. It wasn’t just any moan, either. Not the jokey-playful kind. I mean, he sounded like he was having a good time. I look over, to find out what’s going on, and all I see is Jerry’s husband going tongue-deep into his belly button, flicking it around and slurping up his spit. They were making so much noise… with all the spitting, squeaking, smacking, sucking, popping, and squelching. They weren’t even trying to be discreet. It was disgusting… but they were really into it.

Like I said, sometimes, they’re just a couple of gross teenagers.

Anyway, I thought they would stop once they saw that the whole family — and even a few random strangers — was giving them funny looks… but they didn’t. My uncle held full eye contact with me, moaning like a ghost as his husband ate his belly button out. It made my skin crawl!

That was the very last time I ever joined them on a vacation… and, even once their son is born, I’m won’t be going away with them any time soon. PDA is one thing… but that, that was full-on exhibitionism.

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.

Jonesy had always carried the burden of a troubled past, one filled with heartache and loneliness. His childhood had been a whirlwind of neglect by his uncaring parents, and financial hardships. Growing up, he’d known emptiness and hunger all too well, often going days without a proper meal, and the constant starvation had left him with a perpetually slight frame. Things only got tougher as he grew older, and realized that he needed to make some money to get by on his own… and when he found out he was pregnant at 19 — just before he planned to finally leave his unsteady childhood home — his world was turned upside down.

The idea of becoming a father at his young age filled him with dread, fearing he would be unable to provide for his child, or form a meaningful bond with them. Years and years of being paid nothing but dust by his parents caused him to feel detached and unable to connect with others… like an outsider in his own life. his own mother and father had failed him, and he didn’t want to continue that cycle.

Haunted by the ghosts of his upbringing, Jonesy was harried by guilt and shame, convinced that he was inadequate to be a parent. He didn’t have his own place, a car to drive around, or hardly enough money to afford to take care of anyone other than himself. Determined not to repeat the history of neglect and instability, he made the difficult decision to give his baby up for adoption early on in his pregnancy. The weight of his choice hung heavy on his heart, but he convinced himself it was for the best.

As the months passed, Jonesy's belly swelled big and full with the life growing inside him. Despite his initial reservations, he found himself marveling at the miracle of pregnancy. The kicks and flutters from within brought a sense of peace and joy he had never experienced before… a newfound connection. He found solace in the idea that this little being was a part of him. As he watched his slender body grow larger, to make room for the baby, he began to appreciate the miracle of life that was unfolding within him… and it gave him the motivation to break the cycle, and make something of himself. He didn’t know how or where, but he was going to get a job, and save up for his baby.

After cashing a few paychecks, and becoming more self-sufficient, he soon realized that, despite his own hardships, he had the capacity to love and nurture a child in ways he never thought possible for himself. And with each passing day, he grew more certain that this unexpected journey was leading him to a place of joy and fulfillment he had never thought attainable. Jonesy began to let go of his fear and doubt, allowing himself to believe that, perhaps, he could turn out to be a good parent after all… and strive to be everything that his own mother and father couldn’t be for him. The love he felt for the baby growing inside him gave him hope for a future that he never dared to imagine before.