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Then Mason and Liam stopped over later to watch football with Hunter. We decided to make this our new Friendsgiving tradition and watch all the Friends holiday episodes.
Of course, Maddie then suggested we play football with girls versus boys. I kindly reminded her I was too pregnant to even walk to the bathroom without losing my breath.
With the baby coming any day now, everything is ready and set up. Baby items have not only taken over my bedroom and closet, but a few family friends sent us a high chair, jumper, sleeper rocker, swing, and bouncy seat, which are now in the kitchen and living room. Poor Hunter has to walk through a maze to get from one room to the other.
He hasn’t complained once, though, not that I expect him to. Hunter’s embraced every part of this, which makes him even more incredible. He surprised me last weekend and brought home a cute stuffed bear that we named Lil Paws, so we could “test” out all the baby gear. It was adorable to see Hunter get so excited, which makes me even more sad that he can’t have kids of his own. He deserves more than anyone to find a woman who can make him happy, get married, and build a life and family with, even if it’s through adoption. I know he wants a family; I can see it in his eyes, which hurts so damn much.
Now it’s a week before my due date, and I’ve been having contractions for the past few days. I know Braxton Hicks is common, and it’s my body’s way of practicing, but it hurts like a bitch.
“You okay?” Hunter asks as I hunch over the couch and press a hand to my back. “More back pain?”
“Yeah, it’s a stabbing sensation.” I squeeze my eyes and try to breathe through it. “Is it too early to ask for drugs?” I half-tease.
“Want ice or heat?” he asks before he walks to the kitchen.
“Both,” I reply. “And maybe a shot of tequila.”
Hunter chuckles, and moments later, he returns with a frozen bag of veggies and a hot washcloth. “Turn a bit,” he directs, then sits behind me. He lifts my shirt and pulls down the band of my leggings.
“On the left side, it feels like a damn Charley horse,” I tell him, fighting the pain.
Placing the ice on my lower back, he then wraps the hot cloth around my neck. I try to relax to see if the tension will ease up, and after twenty minutes, I finally feel a lot better.
“Would you mind grabbing me a bottle of my nail polish from the bathroom?” I ask before he takes a seat. He gives me a funny look in return. “I want to have pretty feet for labor.”
Chuckling, he shakes his head but doesn’t say anything as he walks into the hallway. A minute later, he returns with two bottles.
“Which color?” He holds up a pink color and teal glittery one.
“Your pick,” I say.
“You want me to choose?” he asks, arching a brow.
“Yeah.” I shrug. “Which one do you think?”
“Hmm okay.” He holds them up and looks at them with deep consideration. “The pink one is obvious since it’s a girl, but this one…” He holds up the other. “This one says I’m a badass.”
“That’s pretty insightful for nail polish,” I mock. “Teal it is.”
Hunter hands it over, and I prop one foot up on the coffee table as I shake the bottle. Once I open it, I lean over as far as I can, struggling to reach my foot. When I can’t, I lean my arm around my belly and try that way.
“Well shit.” I groan.
“I think there’s an error in your hypothesis,” he quips, clearly holding back laughter. “Belly circumference is bigger than arm reach.”
I glare up at him, a smug grin painted on his chiseled face. “Thank you, Einstein. I realize that now.” Doesn’t help that my back was just hurting earlier. “I can figure this out,” I say, more to myself than him.
I lean my leg slightly outward, keeping my foot planted on the ledge of the table, and stretch my arm out as far as possible. Barely just reaching my big toe, I manage to paint half of it. It’s half-assed, but then I realize I can’t reach the next one.
“Ugh.” I surrender, slouching.
Hunter clears his throat, causing me to look up at him. His arms are crossed over his broad chest as he flashes me his infamous shit-eating grin. “What?” I snap.
“Here, give me.” He holds out his hand, and I furrow my brows at him.
“For what?”
“You want your nails painted or not?” He gives me a pointed look.
My shoulders fall as I hand it over. Hunter sits down on the coffee table, takes my foot, then places it on his knee. I watch as he meticulously paints my nails, one by one, and even holds up my foot and blows on my toes.
