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“I mean it,” I tell her. “He’s actually getting bigger,” I remark, amazed at how fast he’s growing.
But Jen’s heard it all before, try as she might, she really isn’t much of a chatterbox at three a.m.
“Try carrying one for nine months…then, you’ll seeandfeel how fast they grow,” she says dryly.
Making me laugh and keeping her lids closed, she pads her hand over toward me until she finds me.
Reaching for my hand and squeezing it.
“You only wake me up so you can laugh at me, don’t you,” she says, the smile on her face returning as she shifts my hand over to her naked belly.
Little Marcus curled up like dew on a leaf. Wrapped in his little blue blanket, sucking loudly and gurgling before he falls back asleep until mom prompts him gently to keep going.
“I don’t wanna miss one second of this, not ever,” I tell them both, stroking his tiny head with my fingertip.
Leaning down to kiss him.
My son.
My greatest treasure next to my wife and daughter, Abby.
My family.
I find my fingers tracing Jen’s belly, drawing little sounds from her as it kind of tickles.
She was sensitive about her body after Marcus was born.
Hell, who am I kidding? She was sensitive about her body from the moment we started making him, but Jen hit a rough patch in her mind when she thought I’d love her less after Marcus was born.
She kept on and on about ‘stretch marks’ and ‘sagging skin,’ making herself out to sound like some kind of un-stuffed animal the way she described it.
But I only see Jen, beautiful Jen.
And after reminding her she still has twenty years on me, I never hesitate to show and tell a little about my own body if she wants to see for herself.
Those gray hairs she calls ‘distinguished’ and my ‘laugh lines’ around my eyes.
I remind her whenever she’s down in the dumps about it, but she still won’t believe me when I tell her that I was terrified when I first realized how crazy I was about her.
Worried to death, she’d run a mile because some ‘old guy’ was coming onto her.
Of course, that’s not how it happened, but I always mention it because it sounds just as crazy as when she sometimes puts herself down about how she looks.
“They’ll fill in soon enough,” she murmurs. Her eyes still shut, and that smile still playing on her lips.
“What’ll fill in?” I ask, wondering if she’s not talking in her sleep again.
“The lines, all that skin,” she says, suddenly shaking with silent laughter.
“Babe. What on earth are you talking about?” I ask, feeling worried.
Wondering if maybe we need to see a doctor.
“It’s my perfect plan,” she says, putting on a mock tone of seriousness.
“If I stay pregnant, I’ll never have sagging skin, will I?” she asks, her eyes snapping open as she gives a low, fake diabolical laugh.
My brows furrow as I lift my hand from her belly, and put it on her forehead.
