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“Okay. Okay, don’t panic.”

“Don’t panic?” I looked at her. “BITCH, I’M HAVING A BABY!”

“I know!”

“Two fucking weeks early!”

“That’s not necessarily a problem. Get your bag.”

“What bag?!”

“Your hospital bag!”

I stared at her.

Avery stared at me.

Sam’s mouth dropped open.

“Heather.”

I smiled nervously.

“I ain’t pack it yet.”

“BITCH!”

Another contraction grabbed me.

This one wasn’t no fucking Braxton Hicks.

I bent forward.

“Ooooh, shit.”

Sam grabbed my arm.

Avery was already running toward the stairs.

“I’m packing the fucking bag!”

“You don’t even know where my shit is!”

“THEN TELL ME!”

And just like that, organizing baby clothes was fucking over.

Collin was coming.

We damn near needed trauma ourselves by the time Samantha got us to the hospital.

This bitch drove like she had a police escort.

I ain’t even know my cousin knew how to drive like that.

By the time we pulled up to Newark Beth Israel, my contractions were coming strong enough that I wasn’t laughing at shit anymore. Sam had somehow packed my whole fucking life into my hospital bag in about two and a half seconds before we left the house too.

ID.