Frankie
“I feel like I am about to burst,” I complain to my mother. She sits on the couch beside me, knitting a blanket for my son.
She looks up from her knitting, “Are you in labor?” She asks calmly.
“I don’t think so, Mom,” I huff and pat my large belly. My son was due a week ago, and I feel larger and more uncomfortable every day. The pack doctor put me on light duty, so I mostly sit in the living room watching TV.
“He’ll be here soon,” she clicks her tongue.
“You keep saying that, Mom,” I snarl.
She pats my belly, “Carter was two weeks late.”
“That’s not helping, Mom,” I whine.
“Alpha males take their time coming into this world,” She laughs.
My phone rings, and I grunt, trying to reach it on the end table, “Mom,” I complain while trying to get to the phone.
“It’s probably
