“Are you serious?”
I laughed.
“Pretty sure.”
He stood so quickly that he nearly knocked over the laundry basket, then pulled me into his arms.
For the next several weeks, he talked to my stomach as if our baby were already capable of answering him.
“We’re going to need a bigger car,” he announced one evening.
“We already have a car.”
“A bigger one.”
“And a crib.”
“Obviously.”
“And probably a lot of diapers.”
He nodded solemnly.
“I’ve been researching diapers.”
I laughed so hard that I had to sit down.
At four months pregnant, I had become obsessed with baby furniture, paint colors, and the possibility of moving somewhere quieter.
Our house was comfortable, but traffic outside our bedroom could be unbearable.
Motorcycles roared past late at night. Car horns sounded during rush hour, and sirens occasionally woke me just as I managed to fall asleep.
One evening, I was standing by the bedroom window when Ethan came up behind me.
