Dad had always taken pride of being in an excellent shape for his age. “How many fifty year olds have a six pack like this?” He would often brag, lifting his fitted tanktops and showing off his flat, chiseled stomach.
As expected, such a good looking man like him never had a hard time finding a partner for a hot, sexy time. I guess that at his age he had convinced himself that he was safe from the most natural consequence of sex: pregnancy.
He angrily admitted it to me one day. Summer was around the corner and he was looking unusually bloated. “Having trouble cutting after your winter bulk?” I teased, poking a finger into his not-so-flat-anymore middle.
“I fucking wish!” He complained. “Guess there is no point in hiding it. I got fucked knocked up!”
“You what?” I asked, shocked. “How? When? And who…?”
“How do you think it happened, dumbass?” He almost yelled, slapping my hand away of his gut and tugging his t-shirt. “Three months ago. Some dude from Growlr did it. And the motherfucked blocked me afterwards.”
“Holy shit.” I said, having trouble believing it.
“It’s the worst thing ever.” He continued. “I’m tired AND hungry all the time. I’ve put on twelve pounds already, and that’s on top of my bulk. I’m going to end up fat as a fucking cow.”
July came around and dad kept growing every week. One morning, I dashed into his room after hearing an unusal amount of loud swearing coming out of it. “Is everything ok?”
Dad’s eyes shot daggers at me from across the room.”Nothing is fucking ok!” he yelled furiously. “It just took me ten fucking minutes to button this jeans. I have already pissed like four times since I got up two hours ago. And I had breakfast like twenty minutes ago and I’m already starving again. And I’m only six months along” He sighed, defeated. “I’m turning into a fat, useless, pregnant pig.”