It was a regular Tuesday morning in the office, except for one minor detail: I was nine months pregnant. Not just any nine months—no, I was in the final stretch, where every move feels like a quest, and every look from a coworker carries the silent question, “Is she going to explode today?”

My desk had become a fortress of pillows, snacks, and motivational sticky notes from my colleagues that read things like “You can do it!” and “Please don’t give birth on my lunch break!” The snacks were essential, as my unborn child had developed gourmet tastes that could rival a Michelin-starred chef. Pickles dipped in Nutella? Sure. Cheese puffs with a side of strawberry jam? Why not? And my chair had been replaced with an exercise ball, supposedly to help with labor prep but mostly making me feel like a circus act.

The day started like any other. I waddled to the break room; my eyes fixed on the prize: my fourth breakfast. As I reached for the toaster, my colleague Bob appeared, looking as panicked as a deer in headlights.

“Are you sure you should be standing? What if you go into labor right here?” he asked, eyes wide.

“Bob, I’m pregnant, not made of glass,” I replied, rolling my eyes and balancing my belly and my toast. Bob continued to hover like a mother hen, which was ironic considering I was the one about to hatch an egg.

Back at my desk, I balanced my toast on my stomach, which now doubled as a very convenient table. My phone rang—it was Mr. Thompson, my boss, who always managed to call at the worst possible times.

“Hi, Mr. Thompson,” I answered, trying to sound professional while wrestling with my breakfast.

“Good morning! Just checking in on the report for the marketing strategy. Is it ready?”

“Almost there, just adding the final touches,” I lied, glancing at the blank document on my screen. I had been too busy negotiating with Baby Ninja, who was using my bladder as a trampoline.

“Great, great. No rush, but if you could have it by noon, that’d be fantastic.”

Noon. Right. I had three hours to produce a masterpiece while feeling like I was smuggling a beach ball under my shirt. Easy peasy, except for the constant need to pee. I made my twentieth trip to the bathroom, passing by Sandra, our receptionist, who gave me a sympathetic smile.

“How are you holding up?” she asked.

“Just trying to keep the baby from launching an escape plan,” I joked.

In the restroom, I performed the usual pregnant lady gymnastics to fit into a stall. Mission accomplished, I made my way back to my desk where Bob was waiting, looking like he’d seen a ghost.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I thought you went into labor in there!”

“Bob, I was gone for five minutes. Trust me, you’ll know when it’s time.”

Back at my desk, I tried to focus on the report. The clock ticked closer to noon, and I was finally in the zone. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain.

Oh no. This is it, I thought, clutching my belly. This is how I go down—in the middle of the office, surrounded by spreadsheets and snack wrappers.

“Someone, call 911!” Bob shouted, leaping up from his desk. The entire office erupted into chaos. Papers flew, phones rang, and Sandra started fanning me with a file folder.

“Relax, everyone!” I said, wincing. “It’s just a Braxton Hicks contraction. False alarm.”

“Are you sure?” Bob asked, looking like he might pass out.

“Positive,” I said, taking deep breaths. “Just need a minute.”

The office gradually returned to its usual hum of productivity, though everyone kept a wary eye on me. Noon came and went, and I miraculously submitted the report on time. Mr. Thompson called to congratulate me, blissfully unaware of the morning’s drama.

Just as I started to think I might survive the day; I felt another sharp kick. Baby Ninja was back at it. I decided to go for a walk around the office to stretch my legs and hopefully convince Baby Ninja to chill out. As I waddled past the break room, I overheard a conversation that made me laugh out loud.

“I heard that pregnant women have a glow because the baby is a tiny nuclear reactor,” someone said.

“Oh, really? I thought it was just because they were always sweating,” replied another voice.

I couldn’t help but chuckle. If only they knew the truth. The glow was from sheer exhaustion and the constant snack runs.

Back at my desk, I received an email from HR. They were reminding everyone about the upcoming office fire drill. Great. Because waddling down multiple flights of stairs was exactly what I needed. I sent a quick reply, asking if I could just roll down the stairs on my exercise ball. No response, but I’m pretty sure HR didn’t find it as funny as I did.

Lunchtime rolled around, and I decided to venture out to the local café. I needed some fresh air and a change of scenery. Plus, I was craving a sandwich the size of my head. Bob insisted on coming with me, probably worried I’d give birth in the middle of the street.

As we waited in line, I felt another Braxton Hicks contraction. I winced, and Bob’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“Do we need to call an ambulance?” he asked, looking ready to bolt.

“No, Bob. It’s just a practice contraction. But if you want to run ahead and order me a sandwich, that’d be great.”

Bob returned with the sandwich, and we sat down to eat. Halfway through my meal, I felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to nap. I glanced at Bob, who was still watching me like a hawk.

“I think I’m going to head back to the office and lie down for a bit,” I said.

“Good idea. I’ll make sure everything’s okay,” Bob replied, looking relieved.

Back at the office, I set up my little nap station under my desk. I’d brought a pillow and blanket just for this purpose. As I lay there, I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Here I was, nine months pregnant, napping under my desk like a kid hiding from chores.

Just as I was drifting off, I heard footsteps and a whisper.

“Is she…under the desk?”

“Yep. She does this sometimes.”

“Should we…call someone?”

“Nope. Just let her be. She’s growing a human. She deserves this.”

I chuckled to myself and closed my eyes, grateful for the understanding (and slightly terrified) colleagues.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of emails, contractions, and snack breaks. By the time five o’clock rolled around, I was more than ready to head home. I gathered my things, said my goodbyes, and waddled to the elevator.

As I waited for the doors to open, Sandra approached me.

“You did great today,” she said. “Only a few more days, right?”

“Hopefully,” I replied, patting my belly. “Let’s just try to make it to the weekend, Baby Ninja.”

The elevator doors opened, and I stepped inside, ready to tackle whatever came next. Whether it was another day at the office or the biggest adventure of all: motherhood. And as I waddled out into the evening, I couldn’t help but smile, knowing that one day, I’d look back on this and laugh. Or at least that’s what I kept telling myself.

-Sana J. Abdullah

Sana J. Abdullah is a full-time software engineer and a mom, expertly balancing work, playdates, and bedtime stories. With a lifelong passion for writing, Sana has been crafting stories since childhood and is now finally sharing her heartfelt tales with the world. In her rare moments of free time, she enjoys reading, experimenting with new recipes, and finding joy in the everyday adventures of motherhood. Sana lives in a bustling household, where inspiration and laughter are never in short supply.