After he kneels down to slip my shoes onto my feet, he pops back up and opens the door to holler, “Can someone bring a wheelchair in here?”
I tug on the back of his shirt to get his attention. “Why would we need a wheelchair?”
“For you.” When I just stare at him like he’s speaking another language, he explains, “I don’t want you walking that far, so I’m going to roll you out to the front.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter before squeezing past him to stalk down the hallway.
He quickly follows after me and grumbles, “Fine, no wheelchair. But you’re going to wait out front while I go get the car.”
“Okie dokie.” He flashes me an odd look, and I figure he’s confused by why I’m not arguing. I’m not about to tell him that I’m picking my battles since I’m sure there will be plenty of them in the coming months, so I just give him an innocent smile. Then I realize how right I am because not even five seconds later, he does this weird thing with his arms where he basically makes a bubble around me. “What’re you doing?”
He gives the evil eye to the nurse walking past us before answering, “Making sure nobody bumps into you or the babies.” I burst out in laughter at the ridiculousness of his logic, and his glare shifts to me. “I’m not joking.”
“I know you’re not, babe. That’s what makes it so funny.” I slide my arm around his waist and let him “help” me outside and smile to myself when he gets me settled on the bench out front before jogging towards the parking lot to grab our big-ass SUV—which of course has tinted windows so nobody can see our babies when they’re riding inside with us. My husband might go a little overboard at times, but I wouldn’t have him any other way. Not when he’s made all my dreams come true…and then some.