Nothing brings more joy to your face than handing your boyfriend a little white EPT stick and seeing his eyes light up at the “Pregnant, 2-3 Weeks” on it. He grins the widest of grins before pulling you into his arms and kissing you.
Soon we will need to see how many there are.
The body is a volcano and the stomach is lava trying to erupt, burning and scare in the earth in its path. Discomfort. Pain, down to the kneecaps.
Tums will be the new candy, better ask D to get the “good flavours”. He knows what I mean.
She wants them to be twin girls, she hopes, as she trawls baby name websites trying to pick combinations that don’t sound too old or too dated. Names that sing pleasantly but not too samey especially since they’re twins (please don’t rhyme).
She’s not sure she’s willing to compromise.
There is excitement in the air, palpable, I can almost taste it. It tastes of coffee and citrus scented shampoo, the same that you use, that my fingertips smell of whenever they run through your hair. Excitement at the prospect that you and I have created something–two somethings–special.
You can’t help but be excited for this, it’s contagious and you can’t stop telling everyone you’re going to be a dad. A kid on Christmas morning, eyes alight at all the presents Santa has left, your eyes are alight at the plus sign on the test I had you run down to the local CVS for.
“I’m gonna be a dad!” you tell everyone you know. You grin, such a proud father to children still unborn. Already you palm my still flat stomach and I can’t help but fall in love with you just a little more at how you can’t wait for us to be a family, already planning for more.