Mom's not good with blood. She's also not good with dealing with panic. Pity, then, because she works herself into a panic whenever she sees or smells...or thinks blood, and it's a pretty common sight smell thought in our household.We have a sort of a fucked-up family. In case you hadn't noticed.I made the mistake once—just once—of identifying where a wound had come from one morning at breakfast. Mom wasn't fit to live with for a week and a half.So here I was, and I couldn't exactly explain where. “Our baby!” She held my hand against her stomach. “Are you okay with it?” I asked and looked up at her face. "Are you keeping it?" “Yes, it is a beautiful thing,” she said and smiled at me. “But I will feel better with my decision if you agree with me...” “Jessie, I will do anything to support,” I said, happy, and pulled her close. “Now come here.” I pulled her to me and kissed her lips. It was so wet and so much sweeter when I knew she was carrying my child. Her hands violently pushed away. More

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