Page 36 of Capturing Hearts

Chapter Twenty-Four

Annie

Baby: kicking my insides. Husband: laughing at me.

“It’s not funny, Brendan!” I cry out from the couch where I sit tucked under a fuzzy, white throw blanket, my feet up on the leather ottoman. With my hands pressed lightly against my belly, I tell our unborn child, “Jacob honey, I love you. But you have to stop kicking my bladder or I just might kick you back. It’ll be self-defense. Many mothers will back me up on this.”

Brendan’s gray sweater stretches taut across his broad shoulders as he reaches to hang a Statue of Liberty ornament, compliments of Mark and Nicole, on a high branch of our beautiful tree. He slips the string over the bright green bristles and turns to feign shock at what I just said, an amused gleam in his eyes as he heads for the coffee table. “He knows Krav, too. He was in those classes with you.”

“Puhlease,” I groan, sacrificing the pillow that’s supporting my back. He catches it easily before it hits him square between the eyes. “I almost got you that time.”

Ignoring my bold statement, Brendan continues on topic while casually tossing the pillow in the air as he speaks. “You know how some mothers hold up headphones to their stomachs to teach their babies languages or music in the womb? Well, you taught our son to kick ass.” He’s referring to Krav Maga, the martial arts self-defense class I was taking until I ballooned into the shape of Montana.

I tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear and smile at him, thoroughly unconvinced but loving the possibility. “No way! I only trained a couple months after I knew that Mr. Man here was conceived, so he couldn’t have soaked in that much. He was only the size of peanut!” Dryly, I add, “He doesn’t know squat. I could take him. Now give me that back.” Brendan pretends to throw the pillow, but then doesn’t. “What, am I a dog or something? Give it!” He grins and lightly tosses it to my outstretched, bloated hands. I wedge it behind me good and tight while I watch him reach into the box of ornaments, digging through empty containers for what might be left. I have a thing for men’s shoulders and with him bent over like that, rifling through the plastic and paper wrappings, I’m just staring at those shoulders of his. He rises up and pushes down his sweater over the top of his jeans, unaware that I’m lusting after his body as he walks to hang a gold orb on a middle branch.

I wish he were lusting after my body. I will lose this baby weight. I will lose this baby weight. Mantra or no mantra, today I feel like a cow. Feeling this uncomfortable sure does nothing for a woman’s self-confidence. I know I’m pregnant and that it’s not like I got this way because I couldn’t put down the donuts, but still when I see a skinny woman lately, I kinda want to punch her.

There are four different stages to pregnancy.

Glee.

Puking.

Excitement.

Over it.

“You know, a girl last night said that Jacob is timing his arrival. Like he’s got it planned. Do you think that’s possible?”

Brendan shrugs and walks to the box my mom sent. He roots around the now mostly empty wrappers a minute to produce a tiny, blue and white sweater ornament so small it’d be tight on a mouse’s chest. He smiles at it, and turns back to the tree.

My eyes are on the backside of his well-fitting jeans. “Taryn said that we make a contract before we’re born, deciding who we want for our parents, kinda like soul mates. We do it to ensure we learn what we’re meant to, or what we choose to.” He shoots me a look over his shoulder that shows exactly what he thinks of that idea. “Yeah, I know. But it could be.”

“I strongly doubt it.”

“Me too, but how can we know for sure?”

Shaking his head no, he bends at the knees to hang the tiny sweater on a low branch in front.

I look to my tummy. “Did you choose me and Brendan, li’l guy? And while you’re answering questions, what are you doin’ in there? Smoking a cigar and having a good laugh at your momma?”

“He’s enjoying a Scotch and plotting out how to become President, that’s what he’s doing.” Brendan chuckles and gives the tiny sweater a flick with his index finger, watching it sway on the slender, silver hook. “This looks old. Did your parents buy this one, or was it given to them?”

Racking my brain, I come up empty. “I have no idea where it came from. Probably my Aunt Marge? She liked to knit? I don’t remember. It does look old, doesn’t it? I’ll have to ask my mother. Oh, I love this song!” Closing my eyes to enjoy the deep, crooning of Bing Crosby’s White Christmas, I say on a happy sigh, “Wouldn’t it be great if it snowed?”

Brendan stands back to admire the tree. “It would be. All done, babe. What do you think?”

I peek out over my nose, taking in the tree as a complete work of art for the first time. Lifting my head, I can’t help but say with awe, “Wow! Look at what you did!”

Silver tinsel shimmers all around ornaments big and small, from expensive to homemade, each spread out abundantly. The tiny, white lights cast the most magical, soft glow around my husband as he walks to me.

“You like it? Aren’t you glad I closed the curtains so you could get the full effect?”

I nod. “It’s really beautiful, Brendan. I’m sorry I pooped out halfway through. It’s just I’ve been –” Stopping myself, I change direction. “It’s really beautiful.”

Stopping in front of the ottoman, his smile is intimate. “You’re beautiful.

I snort, “I look like a blanketed whale!”

---