Free The Lit Report by Sarah N. Harvey Page A

Miki’s belly got, the mellower she became, as if the baby were a giant hit of long-acting weed. Everything about her was softer—her hair, her voice, her skin. The baby had sanded away all her sharp edges. I could hardly wait for Ruth to soften up too. Miki and Dad talked and sang to the baby all the time, so I did too. The books all said that babies can hear and respond to voices and music, so I wanted to make sure mine was one of those voices.
    â€œHey, little buddy,” I said in the general direction of Miki’s navel. “It’s me, Julia, your big sister. We’re all really anxious to meet you, but don’t try and get out of there early. Enjoy it while you can—it’s way more stressful on the outside. Trust me. Just chill out and don’t give your parents a hard time.”
    Dad laughed. “What kid has ever listened to that advice?”
    I pretended to look injured as I continued. “I’m going to sing you a special song now, and I’m going to sing it to you every week until you’re born.”
    Miki groaned and said, “This better be good—and it better not have the word ‘baby’ in it.”
    â€œTrust me,” I said. “It’s not ‘Maybe Baby’ or ‘Baby OneMore Time’ or even ‘Baby Got Back,’ although that one was tempting. You should learn it, Dad.”
    Miki groaned again, and I began to sing. “You are so beautiful... You are so beautiful...to me...”
    By the time I got to the end, Dad and Miki had joined in and we were all in tears. That’s how Maria found us—sobbing on the couch.
    â€œI knocked but I guess you didn’t hear me,” she said. “The door was open. Is everything okay?”
    We all nodded like dashboard dolls and grinned like fools. “Just singing to Seabiscuit,” I said.
    â€œSeabiscuit?” said Maria. “You’re naming the baby after a horse?” She squeezed herself in between Miki and me on the couch and kicked off her shoes. Her nail polish was bright green. “Oh well,” she said, patting Miki’s belly, “at least it’s better than Pilot Inspektor.”
    We must have looked pretty blank because she added, “You know—Jason Lee’s kid. And then there’s Moxie CrimeFighter and Speck and Sistine. I keep a file of weird celebrity baby names. Seabiscuit’s not so bad.”
    Miki hauled herself up off the couch and announced, “We are definitely not calling our baby Seabiscuit. Although I am considering Flicka if it’s a girl. And what do you think of Granite?” She arched one unplucked eyebrow, and we all burst out laughing again as she headed to the kitchen to put the kettle on.
    â€œHow about Quartz—no—Obsidian for a boy?” said Dad. “Obsidian Stevens-Riley. Very manly.”
    â€œOr what about Manitoba or Yukon?” I suggested. “So patriotic.” I wondered how Joseph Heller came up with all the incredible names in
Catch-22
: Milo Minderbinder, Yossarian, Aarfy, Chief White Halfoat and my favorite, Major Major. It must be like naming a dozen children at once.
    Maria and I trailed after Miki, pelting her with names— Iota, Kumquat, Quince, Napoleon, Dandelion—but Dad disappeared, muttering something about needing to download a recipe. A few minutes later I heard him guffaw and start to sing, “I like big butts and I cannot lie”—Sir Mix-a-Lot had made another conquest.
    SHE FIRST FELT the baby kick in early February. We were in homeroom, listening to Rachel Greaves explain how Jesus wanted us to remain celibate out of respect for the sad fact that He got crucified before He had a chance to get laid. Suddenly Ruth gasped and yelled, “Holy Mary Mother of God!” and clutched her stomach with a look of absolute terror on her face. My first thought was that she was having a contraction, and I fell to my knees beside her,