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"Well, we'll get a new one anyway."
Robin says it casually, like she doesn't expect me to catch on right away but when I look over at her I see the way she's fighting to keep a straight face and I know.
I get up so fast, my coffee spills when I bump the table, but nothing's going to stop me from pulling my wife into my arms so I can kiss her crazy right now.
"When? How long? What is it? We need another name, Angel."
My hand is on her belly, already impatient to meet my son or daughter.
"Doc Jones thinks I'm about eight weeks along, so April." Robin laughs, pressing her hands over mine. "You know we won't know for months yet, but I'm thinking Playa or Paloma."
I want to pick her up and spin her around but there's not enough room with the picnic table out here on the deck.
Robin gently walks me back to the chair I was sitting in and settles into my lap.
Yeah, there is still that too.
Almost a decade of time and hard work has gotten me to the point where I can walk short distances without the stick in my hand and I've found ways to compensate for most things but I can lift or I can walk unassisted, I can't do both.
So it's just as well that the table is in the way.
Having my angel sitting on my lap with my baby growing inside her while my sons play in the yard is better than knocking the patio furniture over anyway.
