‘Paint this wall green. And put those wall stickers like vines growing down from the ceiling. And we’ll need one of those bins that turn dirty nappies into sealed sausages. And it all has to be done THIS weekend.’
‘Can’t I do it when my leave starts?’
‘I’ll be 39 weeks then. The baby could come any day now!’
Midnight Sunday, he’d finished the nursery.
At 39 weeks they had nothing to do.
At 42 weeks he dared to say, ‘I wish I had something to do’.
She threw a slipper at his head. And that’s when the contractions started.Follow @jessieansons
Friday Fictioneers is a challenge set by Rochelle each week where writers from around the world post 100 word stories based on a common photo prompt. For more information, and to read other stories, visit Rochelle’s page here.