“It’s not just the morning, it’s all day.”

“Hmmm something soft like biscuits or crackers should help with that. And maybe try tea. I’d like you to schedule an appointment with your OBGYN who will be your primary doctor throughout your pregnancy will be, but you also need to have a full checkup with your normal physician.”

I nod my head.

“All right, as soon as your paperwork is all filled out, we’ll get you out of here. I’ll have a nurse come by with your discharge papers.” The doc points at the incomplete paperwork Landon tossed aside. “Don’t forget to complete those.” And with that, he was gone.

After an awkward silence, I reach out for the paperwork.

“What are you doing?” Landon rushes over to me, gently coaxing me back onto the bed.

“I was just going to fill out the paperwork.”

“Leave that to me. You rest.”

“Landon, I’m pregnant I’m not dying.”

“I know,” he snaps at me.

“I can fill out the paperwork. You probably don’t even know most of the answers.”

“Well then, maybe it’s time I learned.”

“Oh, because it matters to you now.”

“I told you this morning I was learning everything about you.”

“Right, because I might run back to my dad and tell him that you go to Europe on a regular basis.”

London’s jaw clenches. “Why are you being so stubborn about this? I’m your husband, and at the very least, I should be able to fill out your medical chart,” he growls.

I swallow hard. What he finds to be such a basic thing is where I hide my most kept secrets. “Fine.”

“Thank you. Now, when’s your birthday?”

I do not know why the question hurt so bad. I knew that he did not acknowledge my birthday, but I did not know he did not even know when it was.

“Wow you knocked me up, but don’t even know when my birthday is?” Why do I sound like I’m crying?

“It’s not like you know when mine is.”

“February twelfth.”

“How did you know that?”

“Your secretary told me.”

“Why did she tell you that? And why did you ask her and not me?”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d want to be bothered by something so trivial, and it’s one of the questions they ask when I use the insurance card.”

He raises a confused eyebrow. “When did you need to use the insurance card? And why?”

“I was just having a standard checkup.” For Wilson’s disease and three times weekly.

“Oh.” He clears his throat and looks back down at the paper. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“May fifth.”

There is a long pause, as he strains to remember what he did a mere twenty days ago. He swallows audibly. “Any allergies?”

“Soy.”

“Last mensural cycle?”

I blush crimson red. He gives me an amused look. Clearing my throat, I quietly mutter an answer.

“History of heart disease, diabetes, CPOD, seizures, liver failure?”

My heart pounds in my chest. I have never been a good liar. My father used to beat me with his belt for lying. I break out in a cold sweat. I cannot tell him now; it is just not the way I want to, if I do at all. So out of my stupid mouth comes the only distraction I can possibly think of.