He chuckles. “Let’s hope she doesn’t have a sweet tooth like you.”
I unwrap the foil from my burger and dig in, immediately moaning. “That’s delicious. I’m so freaking hungry.”
“Me too,” he agrees.
We both grow quiet, to absorbed in our food to talk. I stuff a couple of fries in my mouth and moan again.
It doesn’t take us long to finish our burgers and fries since we were starving and then we both start on the ice cream.
“Do you remember that time in your truck when we got McFlurries after our first official date and we argued about our fictional baby?” I ask him, swirling my tongue around the spoon.
He grins back at me. “How could I forget? We got ice cream all over my truck and ourselves.”
“That was fun, and sticky.” I laugh. “But can you believe this many years later, here we are again sitting in the car eating ice cream only this time I am pregnant and we’re going to have a daughter.”
He grins at me, his teeth perfectly straight and white. “A lot can change in the blink of an eye.”
I think back to the two people we were then. I was so young, only nineteen, and all that we’ve been through since. We’re much stronger, more mature people now. I guess sometimes you have to go through horrible things to come out a better person.
Xander
25 Weeks Pregnant
Baby is the size of acorn squash
“What the hell is an acorn squash?” I mutter to myself, looking at the app on my phone that says at week twenty-five the baby is the size of an acorn squash. Thea has the same tracker on her phone, and I’m sure it’s unusual for the guy to care so much, but I’m fascinated by the whole thing.
I read what it says beneath the size, and I’m shocked to learn that the baby is starting to grab things and can even grab her umbilical cord as well as stick out her tongue.
It really is the miracle of life.
“Xander, I need some help down here!” Thea calls and I head downstairs.
She’s been a mad woman setting up for her Halloween party. I tried to help earlier but she got mad and told me to get out of her way so she could do it herself and do it right.
“Can you hang these?” she asks, pointing to some kind of bat looking thing she wants to dangle from the ceiling.
“Yeah, I’ll grab the ladder.”
I head to the garage and get it. When I get back inside, she’s running around like a crazy person. This is what happens when she insists on doing everything on her own because she’s a perfectionist.
I hang the bat things from the ceiling and then wait for her to ask me to do something else.
“Can you set all this stuff out on the dining room table? I already decorated it. It just needs the food and drink.” She points to the spread of snacks and drinks on the kitchen island.
“Yep. Do I need to hang anything else? I’ll put the ladder away first if you don’t have anything else.”
She presses her lips together, thinking. “No, that was it.”
I put the ladder away, and then set out the drinks and food. I try to set it in a way that I think she’d like instead of just plopping it on the table.
I must do a good job because she walks by and gives an appreciative nod.
“Can you vacuum the family room?” she asks me next.
“Yeah.” At least that’s easy enough.
I’m in the middle of vacuuming when she lets out a war cry. “This house is a mess. It’s never going to be clean in time. We need to just throw everything out.”